Secrets Best Left Unsaid
by Nekomiimii
Summary: After being deemed emotionally unfit to work, Gumi returns to her sister, Miki, while carrying a dark secret. Months later, after she's sure she feels safe, Miki suddenly disappears from their island home one cold November night. Gumi knows what occurred that night, but it'll take a lot more than a few challenges, an old flame and her niece to get it out of her. Set during 20s-40s.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

Yes, I know that I need to kill my brain, but I'm severely depressed now, no questions asked. I did this to get my mind off of the topic and I researched what time was like during the 1920s (setting of this Fic) so I forced myself to work on this, so it's going to be pretty choppy, I think.

On another note: I'm giving up on One Chance. For now. I just can't come up with any ideas for it, I'm sorry, but if I can't come up with anything within the year or so, I may just get rid of it all together. I honestly don't even like it. . .

To help out a bit, the style is different (again), but not that much, I should hope. This is going to be a little confusing, but it'll clear up the more chapters I post, so please bear with me. To help simplify, I used my usual "xXx" that are paragraph breaks to show that it's in third person and line breaks to introduce a Characters POV, since I dislike having to read "So-and-so's POV", I'm thinking of doing the same to my other Fic Just My Luck, but that yet has to be seen. No worries, it'll make more sense the more I go on.

Warning: Long chapters, this'll roughly be about twenty chapters, maybe.

Disclaimer: Psh, I totally own Yamaha that helps fund the Vocaloids from every company. *sarcasm*

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><p>Ppoine remembered drowning.<p>

"I know it happened, I'm sure of it."

"That's impossible," her Aunt Gumi would say to her with a slight frown and eyes that held a hint of worry in them. "It must have been a dream, a very bad dream. A nightmare."

Ppoine frowned and looked at her small hands. She would look back up at her Aunt and then scurry away. But Ppoine maintained that she drowned, insisted on it for years, even when she should have known better.

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><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

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><p>Of course I lied to Ppoine. She was only a child, after all. What should I have said to her? That her mother had been reckless? That I'd had to rescue her, give her new life, raise her up as my own? There are things in life that children must not know, must never know, if one could help it.<p>

I suppose people will say that it was my fault, that if I'd not gone home that March in 1919, Miki, my only sister, would not be dead. But I did go home. The way I saw it, I didn't have a choice.

Hmmmm. . . "March 27, 1919". That's a good place to start. That's what I wrote on the top right corner of my page. "Dear Miki". The pen shook as I raised it, splattering black ink all over the page. "March 27, 1919," I wrote on a fresh sheet of paper. "Dear Miki".

In the end, I didn't bother writing to her. I already knew that I'd be welcomed. After all, Miki had been begging me for months on end to come back. But what could I tell her? I had no explanation but the truth. And God knows I certainly didn't want to tell her that.

The truth is, the hospital that I stayed at had asked me to leave. Not permanently, of course.

"Of course we don't want you to go permanently, Miss Hiirone," Dr. Utatane said.

It wasn't clear who he meant by "we", since we were the only ones in his office. It made me nervous knowing that there were others who had talked about me, perhaps whispering in the hallways, ducking around corners when they see me coming. For all I know, they probably gathered in this very office, sipped coffee, shook their heads and tut-tutted me. Who were they?

Dr. Utatane moved some papers around on his desk. He didn't even look at me. "When this is over-" he cleared his throat, "-when you're yourself again, then we'll reconsider."

He was referring to my hallucinations, I think, although it could have been the fainting or even the accidents. He studied his desktop for a moment. After several minutes had passed, he sighed, saying it almost kindly, "You'll feel much better from this stink, trust me."

There was a stink in the hospital. A literal stink of gangrenous flesh and vile vomit, of ammonia, burnt oatmeal and camphor, of urine and feces. But a nurse gets used to these smells, the screams and the sight of men missing pieces of themselves.

And I was a brilliant nurse. I had the touch; everybody said so. The soldiers worshiped me. Those with faces lifted them towards me when I bent over their beds. Those with arms held them out to me.

I loved being an angel. But I had to give that up.

Dr. Utatane had a point. Somehow, I had lost control.

One morning I woke up sure, absolutely positive, that my legs had been sawn off of my hip, and although I quickly realized that I had only been dreaming-my legs were tight there, two ridges under the blanket-I couldn't move them. I couldn't rise no matter how hard I tried. My roommate, Lily Poid, had to pull me out of bed. Another time, I'm ashamed to say, I actually fainted across the chest of a soldier while giving him his sponge bath.

Several times I had to run from the wards to vomit. My insides spewed out every morning. Whether it was bedpans and janitors' buckets, into hastily twisted newspaper cones, the snowdrift behind the hydrangea hedge. Twice I lost the hearing in my right ear and once I spent three hours sitting in the stairwell, waiting for my sight to return. Syringes flew out to stab my arms; glass vials shattered in my hands, file drawers pinched the tips of my fingers.

I forgot soldiers' names and the purposes for errands. Three days in a row I locked myself out of the room I shared with Lily. And always, I was so tired, so very tired, that I simply could not stay awake, no matter how often I splashed cold water on my face or the amount of coffee I drank. In the end, I finally caved in and fashioned myself a nest of towels in the supply room. I slept there every afternoon from one to two-thirty until the day Ward A ran out of soap and Stella Hoshine was fetched to get some. All in all, I had to admit that they were right-I was beginning to make a better patient than a nurse. My body had gotten the better of me and could not be trusted. To tell you the truth, I didn't even know myself anymore.

And so, I finally agreed to go home, not to the Serenada boardinghouse filled with unmarried nurses where Lily and I had to carefully split the freezing, tawny-colored room into her side and my side, but back to the farm where I had grown up. Back to the farm where the snowy hills where white as bleached linen and where my sister rocked her little girl to sleep beside the kitchen stove while she waited for her husband to get back from the war. I knew that, at home, I could set myself right again.

Outside of the train station, I drew the city's breath, yeasty from the breweries and bittersweet from the chocolate factories. The smells filled my lungs and I couldn't help but feel better already. The grip on my luggage was tight as I got off from the train. I wasn't late nor was I exceptionally early for my train. And now, for the first time in weeks, I was hungry, ravenous in fact. I went into the station and stopped by a counter to order a bag of roasted peanuts and a cup of coffee that didn't scald my tongue. When I had finished the nuts, I was still hungry.

"Would you wrap half of a turkey salad?" I asked the vendor again. "No, nevermind, make it a whole. And some of that ham, smoked. And maybe a slice of cake, the carrot one over there, please." I heard a noisy slurp. Someone down the counter was drinking a chocolate shake that looked awfully good, and I was tempted to order one of those, too.

"That's what I like," the counterman said, punching in the numbers into the register, "a woman who can eat!"

So I changed my mind about the shake. As I was getting ready to pay my bill, they called my train. I hurriedly gave him the money and got my food and quickly hopped onto the train.

"One way, miss? Goin' home?" the conductor asked, steadying himself his hip along the seat in front of me. I nearly began to explain that it wasn't right, really, to consider it home any longer, even though legally the farm was half of mine. Well, it really was rightfully Miki's since she lived there, had a family there, and I was just going back for a restorative visit because somehow my body had ended up making a mind of its own. I wanted to admit that I was banished because I had failed as a nurse, because nobody, including me, believed that I could coax soldiers back into proper shape when I was such a mess myself. But it wasn't in me to say such things aloud, to admit my failure.

"That's right," I said without a moments hesitation.

He winked at me. "Tickets!" he bawled and lurched down the way down the swaying car. Spring meant even less in the country than it did in the city that year, and by the time we pulled up to the icy platform in Serenada, the sky was dark and heavy with unfallen snow just waiting to flutter down. The wind bit at my face so that I had to duck my head. I watched the toes of my boots as I stepped down the slick platform stairs and picked my way over the snow that drifted across the street in long pulls like taffy. My steps took me one, two, three buildings down from the platform where I stopped at the door of Kagamine's Bait and Tackle-"A Dozen Grubs for a Penny." I went in.

The bell over the door gave a sweet jingle and the coals in the corner stove gave an answering glow to the sudden draft of frigid air. Then the curtains behind the counter parted and Rin Kagamine emerged from the back room. She grinned when she saw me, beamed, you could say, and wiped her hands on the front of her apron in that nervous way she had as she hurried toward me.

"Gumi! What are you doing home?" She put her hands on my shoulders and pressed her warm, smooth cheek against mine. "Ooh, you're frozen, a block of ice!" She held her warm palms to my face for a moment and then grabbed hold of my wrist and gave it a little tug without warning and led me to a seat to let me answer her question. "Come over near the stove. I can't believe it, just can't believe that it's you! I wondered-when I heard the bell-I wondered who it could have been, coming in at this hour, and I thought, It's probably Rook again, but of course, it couldn't have been, because he's with his sister Ruko on over at Menostown, and then I thought. . ."

She would've gone on and on about what she's supposed and what she'd thought after that and what she'd done next, but I interrupted her. "I'm taking a vacation." I answered, simple as that. "A rest." I mean, it was true, in a way.

She gushed. "Miki will be so happy!" Just as soon as her grin came, it vanished and was replaced with a frown. "But why didn't she tell me? She was in here only two days ago."

"Miki doesn't know."

That was all I needed to say, because she broke in immediately. "A surprise! How wonderful! And Gumi," she leaned toward me and lowered her voice discreetly, though she really didn't need to, it was just the two of us and nobody else in the shop to hear. "I have a surprise, too." She waited until she was sure she had my undivided attention. "Len and I may have a little one coming along." She patted her apron front significantly.

I didn't know what to say. Rin had been pregnant every one of the five years they've been married and has lost every one of those babies, each when it was only several months along. A person ought to know when to give up, I thought; a person ought to not court with disaster. At the very least, she could at least be a bit more wary. She should hold some of her feelings back. But Rin was incapable of reticence, and she didn't have the advantage of scientific training, the way I did. She always acted as if nothing could possibly go wrong, as if this child's birth were written in the stars, and that she only needed to wait for the blessed event. Only her hands hovering protectively over her belly betrayed the worry underneath. What she thought was growing could so easily amount to nothing at all.

"It feels different this time," she said defensively, although I hadn't expressed my concern.

"I hope so." I mean, really, what else could I have said?

We agreed then that I should be on my way while there was still daylight. A few steps from the store knowing that she would be watching, I turned to look back. She held up her hand and, as I mirrored her, I thought of the time when we were just alike, Rin and I, both happy to be finished with school for the day, running and sliding along this very road, scanning the tower of St. Anzu for the lantern light that we believed signaled the escape of a lunatic, talking why Teto Kasane wasn't talking to Momo Momone, and how we knew that Mikuo Hatsune cheated on the math test, and what to do with the penny after you'd rubbed it on a wart, and sometimes singing.

Of course, that was before Miki. By the time Miki was old enough to go to school, Rin and I walked this same road decorously, with our books squeezed tight against our chests, but Miki ran ahead, pitching herself into snow banks, as we had once done.

"Watch me, Gumi! Watch me, Rin!" she'd cry.

Or she would linger behind to study the snowflakes pattering her mitten and summon me back imperiously. "Gumi, look at this one! Hurry up before it melts, you hafta see it!"

I could never make my sister understand that Rin and I had important matters to discuss. For five minutes of so, Miki would stay by my side, cocooned with me in a wool shawl, but inevitably she'd pull away and run and slide until she exhausted herself and begged me to carry her.

"Piggyback!" she demanded. Yes, demanded, although she was much too heavy.

"You're too big now, Miki." I protested. I sighed. I rolled my eyes at Rin, whose eight brothers and sisters were never so much trouble, even if they were all put together. But Miki stomped her little foot. She wailed and clung onto me, so that eventually, I bent my knees, and she jumped on my back and wrapped her slim arms around my neck, tight enough to strangle. Miki was always interrupting, always demanding, and I always gave in. I always did what she wanted. Always. Except that last time.

When Miki was born, I was eight years old and not, in the neighbor ladies opinion, a promising child.

"What a beautiful baby," Mrs. Vista said as she, Mrs. Akita and Mrs. Juon crowded around Miki's crib and cooed over her pretty lips, her lovely chin. With seventeen children among them, you would think that they would have seen enough babies. But Miki, apparently, was special.

"Gumi'll be jealous, won't she?" Mrs. Akita stated. "She has such a pretty little sister; I would've been, too!"

But my mother shook her head and said, "No, Gumi loves her sister." She laid the baby on my lap to prove it to them.

Why should I be jealous? Miki was mine. The baby that everybody wanted for herself belonged to me.

A photographer came into our house to take a picture of us on the day of Miki's christening. They put me in the big green chair-already, my legs were long enough to touch the floor, if I didn't sit back all the way- and I held her, her dress spilling white down my front, one of her tiny wet fingers tangled in the end of my braid, while outside the April clouds chased each other across the sun so that the room was bright one moment and then shadowed the next.

"Smile!" the photographer pleaded with a strained smile of his own because I refused. At Rin's house, I had seen a picture of her holding onto her baby brother, Rinto, with a solemn look. I wanted to look like her, solemn, noble.

With the pop, the flash and the smoke, Miki began to cry. My mother started to lift her from me, but I was determined to hold onto my baby. I would be the one to comfort her. And Miki, for her part, wound her fingers more tightly in my hair. She wouldn't let go until my mother opened up those tiny hooks one by one.

I looked up at the signs and turned onto Tessa Road, which runs up a hill overlooking Seranada Lake. At the top, the wind hit me full force, scouring my cheeks and tearing up my coat. I gasped and struggled forward, head low, as far as the icehouse. There I rested, stamping my feet in the straw and flexing my fingers, unwinding my scarf and shaking it free of my frozen breath. I left the door partway open for light.

Before me now, as I stood looking out, the land fell away down the steep slope, and through the trees, the frozen lake lay like a white scar on the earth. I shifted right, adjusted my angle slightly, and the tree trunks parted to reveal the familiar dark stain amid the whiteness, a crescent crowned with the lace of leafless branches in the northeast corner of Seno's Bay, the island that had once been mine. I shifted again and could make out on the island the green roof of the house where Miki and Kaito had lived until the war.

Once I had thought this place was the only one like it in all the world, but now I knew better. Lakes were scattered all over this part of the country, their outlines different, but their innards just the same. They were drops and drips and splashes on the land. They were holes and craters lined with skin too thin to hold back the springs that rushed to fill them, and most of them were dotted here and there with stubborn little islands, knobs of land that refused to dip their heads under the water.

To the old farmer who'd sold my parents their land, my island had been nothing, or worse than nothing- a useless piece of soil. He never mentioned it to my parents when he pushed the deed toward them across the heavy oak table in what had only moments before been his kitchen and was now ours.

They didn't discover they owned the island until several years later. I was twelve and Miki was four the day my parents spread the papers out on that same kitchen table to determine whether a spring to the north that would have been handy for them really belonged to our neighbors, as the Vistas claimed.

"What's this here?" My mother tapped her index finger on a blob marked with an "X" that looked to be in the middle of nowhere.

My father studied the map. "Well, Mother," he said, "it looks like we own the island out in Seno's Bay."

Miki was standing close to him, as she always did, one arm crooked around his leg. He scooped her up and tossed her up and down towards the ceiling. "What do you think of an island, little Missy?"

"Again!" she shrieked. "Again!"

And so he tossed her up several more times, while she squealed in delight, until at last he lowered her to the ground, his fairly large hands rucking her dress under her arms.

"Do it again! Please!" she whined, tugging on his trousers. "Again! Please! Again!"

Finally he raised a warning finger, and she started to cry. He turned to me. "Take care of your sister," he said impatiently. "We're busy here." And then he and my mother went back to trying to bend the northern boundary.

After everyone else was in bed that night, I crept down the stairs and unrolled the map to examine the shape for myself. How oddly small and plain it looked, so different from the rocky, tangled place I knew. I rubbed at it with my finger. On paper, it might have been no more than a smudge of blackberry jam.

Under the rush of the wind now, I became aware of the ching-ching of sleigh bells coming up the road. I wrapped my muffler tight around my throat and lifted my bag. I was about to step outside and hail the driver, when the horse crested the hill and I saw just whose animal it was. I shrank back and pulled the door to. I had done something that I didn't want Nero Akita to know, something worse even than my dismissal, and I couldn't stand for him to see me with that shame in my heart.

In the darkness, I pressed against the straw-covered blocks of ice and, my eyes closed, my breathing stilled, waited for the bells to cease, for the sound of footsteps, for the light to flood against my eyelids, because surely he'd seen me, had at least seen something and would wonder. Nero wasn't the sort who could ignore a glimpse of an intruder or of someone who might need his help.

The bells came on, nearer, nearer, until I could hear the horse snort and the hiss of the runners on the snow, and then they passed by and jingled more and more faintly, until at last they were buried beneath the wind. He must have not seen me after all. But if the stranger I had recently become was relieved, some other part of me shuddered with despair, and I found myself weeping, the tears searing my frozen cheeks at the thought that I had to hide myself from a man I'd once loved.

And then, finally, I had to go on. One can only cry for so long and it would be dark soon and colder. Although the wind was fierce, I had only one more hill to climb. At the very last one, when I could see the yellow farmhouse and the smoke from the field stone chimney, I began to run, taking huge, wild steps, picking my feet up high out of the snow and throwing them down again, swinging my bag as if I were just a girl, propelled by the excitement of coming home.

I was about to knock on the kitchen door when it flew open. Out came the fiery red locks and a pair of brilliant ruby eyes that belonged to none other than my own little sister, Miki. She stood on her tiptoes; her cheeks flushed from sitting near the warm fire and broke out into a huge grin.

"Gumi! You've come back!" She had to lift her arms high to throw them around me. It took me a second to realize that I had grown into a tower while she had stayed tiny and delicate, like our mother, a little sprite.

I was pleased by her embrace, but I was less demonstrative than my sister, and I stood rather awkwardly, still holding my bag until she began to pull me inside.

"Wait, Miki. You don't want snow all over your clean floor." I protested while I stomped my feet and brushed my shoulders.

She laughed. "Bring it in! Bring it in! Bring all of you in!"

She poked me playfully in the ribs as she helped me take my coat off. "Getting a little stoat, aren't you? Too much carrot cake?" she teased and giggled to show that she was only joking.

"I'll be skin and bones again in no time eating your cooking." I shot back in a tone similar to hers.

"Oh, I'm not going to cook anymore, not now that you're here."

We laughed at this, knowing how right she was.

"Look at those boots! Those gorgeous boots!" she exclaimed, bending over to admire my city footwear, spoiled now with the wading through the drifts for which they were perfectly unsuited for.

That was my Miki, thrilled at a pair of new boots, not even thinking to ask uncomfortable questions about why I'd come or what I intended to do. She was simply pleased to have me here with her.

"And Ppoine? Where's my baby?" I asked.

"Right here, of course." She swooped down on a pile of rumpled quilts that lay on the rocker near the stove and plucked the little girl out. "Wake up, Ppoine, your Aunt Gumi is here."

I started to worry about the fuss I had already started. "Oh, please don't wake her up," I begged, but it was too late. Ppoine blinked at me and yawned.

Miki thrusted her into my arms. "Here, you hold her." she said with that familiar, confident smile.

The way things had been with me lately, I was afraid that the child might scream, but when I settled into the rocker, she nestled against my shoulder and went back to sleep. It was exactly as I'd hardly dared to hope it would be, the three of us warm in that familiar kitchen. I almost forgot about to ask after Kaito.

"He can see alright again," she said. "But there's some infection in the leg, and he still doesn't know when he'll be coming back." She told me in her letters about the gas that had blinded him and the shrapnel that had made a hole in his thigh practically big enough to stick a fist through. I assured her that a man was pretty certain to recover from those wounds, but she wanted to worry.

"You're here now, though," she said, raising her ruby eyes to meet my jade ones and tossed her head, almost defiantly and grinned.

So I would take care of her. That was all right then. That was something I knew how to do. For a moment or two I could almost believe that things were the way they had always been, before Kaito or anyone else had come between us.

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><p>AN:

Well, I'm sorry if it's confusing (again), but it'll clear up a bit later on. I've actually thought this one through and I hope I can make this one come out pretty decently. As for Ppoine, if any of you don't know who she is, she's a UTAUloid (surprising? No.) and her whole name is Matsudappoine. Yep, you guessed it, she's Matsudappoiyo's sister. She's a year younger than him but she's actually taller, illustrated and voiced by the same creator, Matsuda. Anyways, she was the only one with blue hair(even though it's really light) and red eyes that seemed to have fit Kaito and Miki as their offspring. Sorry, but Ppoiyo won't be in this story (I love him to bits, though. . .).

Review if you like, but they're appreciated, as well as criticisms.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:

Made minor changes in the last chapter. I changed Gakupo's and Luka's roles and gave them to Len and Rin. I put more thought into it, gathered a new plot, and the idea of using Rin and Len seemed more suitable. So now: Luka= Rin, Gakupo= Len.

Simple.

I hope this chapter doesn't come out to be too bad, I've been in rut, or so it seems to me. XD

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><p><em><strong>Ppoine<strong>_

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><p>Aunt Gumi told me to be quiet, but I didn't be quiet.<p>

I wanted to know. Why did she keep telling me that it never happened, that the baby isn't real? I was there, I saw it and I heard it, too.

Why was it so bad to hide it?

And then my momma went away.

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><p><em><strong>Gumi<strong>_

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><p>"My sister's gone!" I told the sheriff.<p>

He yawned and rubbed his face. When there wasn't any law breaking, which was most of the time, the sheriff was just Gakupo Kamui, a farmer.

I'd gotten him out of bed. "What's that?"

"I can't find Miki!" I shifted Ppoine, bundled in a feather quilt against the cruel November night, to my other hip. My arms were nearly limp with weariness and she was heavy, but I couldn't let her go. I'd been home less than a year, and I had lost my sister.

"Well, how long has she been gone?"

"Hours. I don't know how many. We all went to bed and then something woke Ppoine up. That's when I saw that Miki wasn't in her room. Wasn't in the house at all."

"You still out on the island?" He frowned and I knew Miki had been right. People had been wondering about us. "You come over on the ice already?"

Just then Luka Kamui appeared behind him. "Why are they standing out in the cold, Gakupo?" she scolded. "Come in. Sit down and I'll get you something hot to drink." She had a very good face for trouble—she looked stricken, full of concern. "Here, give me the little girl. Aren't you just frozen, sweetheart?" She held her arms out for Ppoine.

"No!" I cried and pulled Ppoine against me so hard that she yelped in pain. "We have to get her home. In case Miki comes back." I added quickly to avoid suspicion.

"Gakupo'll fine her," Luka said soothingly. The sheriff had already gone in to put on his clothes. "He'll bring her back."

I turned then and went off across the frozen grass. When Ppoine shivered, I opened my coat so she could share its warmth. Under the quilt she had nothing on.

Where were we going? I wasn't certain, despite what I'd told Luka. Not back to the island—that was unthinkable. With no plan, I staggered along the same road I'd traveled eight months before, this time with Ppoine, heavy as an anchor, clutched to my chest. Although we were moving away from the water, the lake itself seemed to be beneath my skin, for I leaked and dripped with each painful step. My wet hair had frozen on my head. The front of my dress was sodden under my coat; my vision was blurred. But my feet knew the way, just as they had back in March. Back when I went to the dark, cold farmhouse, the place we never should have left, where we'd all have been safe, if not for me.

Ppoine was asleep by the time we reached home, her head drooping along my arm. Her nightgown was back on the island, so I wrapped her as well as I could in on of my father's old shirts and my mother's shawl. I lit the stove and rocked her back and forth on my lap while I waited for the water to heat.

When I finally heard the whistle coming from the kettle, I filled the hot water bottle and tucked it beside her in bed under the eiderdown. For a moment, her deep breaths paused and I held my breath, waiting for the worst, but she only sighed and slept on. Satisfied that she was warm and safe, I went down to the kitchen and removed my mittens.

My hand wasn't as bad as I had feared. Most of the blood had dried and the punctures were small in circumference. Many of them were deep, however. There would be scars, a ring in the meat at the base of my thumb. Who could have imagined such a little thing would have such strength? Who would've thought she would struggle so fiercely in that small body of hers? I found my father's whiskey and dabbed a little on my wounds. Then I drank a glass. People said it made you forget.

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><p><em><strong>~ · · · ~<strong>_

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><p>When Ppoine awoke the next morning in a room she hadn't slept in for months, she called for her mama. I was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the night to be over. My body had striven against me for sleep, for escape from the sores, the bruises, and for the pain in my muscles, but whenever I closed my eyes, what I saw behind them was unbearable. In the daylight, I'd promised myself that everything will be alright, that everything will be different. They would find Miki at a neighbor's house, somewhere along the lake. Or maybe even in the woods around the bay. She would be wet, maybe, freezing. She might even have caught a chill. Her dress would certainly be ruined, but that would be the worst of it.<p>

I would heat a bath for her and make a strong soup and bundle her into her bed. We wouldn't talk about what had happened. We'd only be glad that it was over and that we could go on as we had before. I had only to make it through the darkness and then she would come home. I promised myself that.

Or maybe something _had_ happened. I hid my hand in my lap and told myself that it had all been a horrible, horrible nightmare. When the sun rose up, Miki would come down to the kitchen and we would laugh about the craziness of dreams and how real they can seem so that you wake up hardly able to breathe for the speed of your heart. She would say how silly I'd been not to slide into her bed for comfort and how I would be no good to anyone without a night's rest. She would tease me about being afraid of my own shadow, and we would make pancakes together for Ppoine.

Yes, that was how it would be when the sun came up. As long as I didn't check—that was important—as long as I didn't check to see that Miki was in her bed, but simply waited faithfully in the night, in the daylight things would be different.

So in the morning when Ppoine called for her mother, I waited, listening for Miki's light steps across the upstairs floor. I listened, and I heard it. Yes, I was quite sure I heard it. But Ppoine didn't stop calling. She was crying now, a frustrated cry. Why wasn't Miki going up to her baby girl to comfort her?

Finally. I went to Ppoine. "We'll let Miki sleep," I said to myself as I climbed the stairs. "She must be very tired." But the truth pierced me with every step. In between the moments when I was convinced that Miki was most definitely in bed, I knew she was gone.

Deep in my heart, I knew it, but I refused to look at it squarely. My mind slipped off the idea. I focused on the shape of the spaces between the lilies of the valley on the wallpaper; I noticed the twist of red and blue in the rag rug at the top of the stairs; I thought hard about what was in the kitchen that could be cooked for breakfast.

Ppoine let me lift her from her crib, but when I set her down, she ran straight to Miki's room.

"Where's Momma? Where?" she asked, her dark, ruby eyes wide with bewilderment, so trusting, it tugged and twisted at my heartstrings. The sight broke my heart. How could I tell her what I couldn't tell myself? My head would not make up the words.

"Shhh, sweetheart," I said. It wasn't the right thing to say, I know that. I know that! But it was all I could say at the moment. "Shhh, sweetheart. Let's make some pancakes, shall we? C'mon, let's you and me make some pancakes."

"I want my momma," she said and when I tried to take her by the hand to lead her down to the kitchen, she ran and wrapped her little arms and legs around the bedpost of her mother's cold, empty bed, and held on. "I want my momma!" she screamed, over and over and over again.

"Don't," I begged and sat down next to her, "Ppoine, please don't. It's alright, really, it's alright. She'll be back soon. Please let go and come downstairs with me."

But Ppoine would not be fooled. She wailed and I stayed there helplessly, letting her despair for both of us.

When Ppoine's cries began to weaken, I felt suddenly tired, so tired that I thought that my body would collapse on the floor right next to her. I picked her up then—she was too exhausted to protest any longer—and I pulled her onto Miki's bed with me. The bed was stripped—we had been away from it for so long!—so we lay right on the blue-striped ticking, our cheeks pressed against ancient stains. My hand throbbed, and I couldn't stop shivering. I pulled the wool blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed over us and fell asleep.

I dreamed that I was standing on the edge of the lake in summer. Across the dazzling water, I could see Miki, sitting on the rocks that rimmed the island and singing, as a mermaid would. So she was all right! Of course she was all right!

"Miki!" I shouted, relief flooding my voice. "Miki! Over here!" But she wouldn't look at me.

I waded in, then, toward her. I pushed forward until the water encircled my waist and then cradled my bosom. How easy it would be to disappear beneath that inscrutable surface. There would be no gaping hole to show where I had sunk, no frenzy of turbulent waves to give evidence of my struggle.

"Miki!" I called, my chin dipping below the water as I opened my mouth. But she looked away toward the opposite shore, as if she hadn't heard a sound.

I couldn't shout again. The water ran into my mouth, my nose, my ears, my eyes. I was afraid now, and the water was heavier, harder to push. I could barely get a purchase with my feet on the sandy bottom. I clutched at the lake with my hands, but it gave me nothing to hold. Still, I kept going. Miki was just ahead, I only had to keep going and I would have her again.

And then I heard her crying. Yes, there you are, I thought, struggling as well as I could toward the noise. She sounded just as she had years and years ago, when she was my baby Miki and wanted me, only me, to comfort her. "I'm coming, Miki!" I called and water filled my mouth.

I was almost there. The crying was louder, but my legs wouldn't move. I leaned forward. I stretched my arms out. There was no more breath in me, but I reached; I strained; I _would_ have her, she was mine.

And then I woke up.

It was Ppoine who was crying, Ppoine who needed comfort. Drowning in grief, I clung to her for dear life. I had no one but Ppoine now and Ppoine had no one but me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>Ppoine's mother had drowned. That was a fact. In December they found her body, trapped in the ice of Seranada Lake. <em>The Daily Bulletin<em> reported it and Gumi clipped the articles and pasted them to the black pages of a scrapbook so there could be no questions about what had happened that night.

**_December 4, 1919—WOMAN MISSING_**

**Mrs. Kaito Shion of Tessa Road, Serenada, has been missing since  
>the night of November 27, according to her sister, Miss Gumi Hiirone,<br>also of Tessa Road. Anyone with knowledge of her whereabouts should  
>contact the Serenada's Sheriff's Department.<br>**

* * *

><p><em><strong>December 6, 1919— MISSING WOMAN FOUND DROWNED<strong>_

** The body of Mrs. Kaito Shion was found yesterday evening trapped in the  
>ice on Serenada Lake by Mr. Victor S. Yonné of45 Papermoon, Seranada,<br>and his son, Ron, 5. Mrs. Shion had been missing since the night of Novem-  
>ber 27.<br>**

* * *

><p><em><strong>December 7, 1919— FUNERAL FOR MRS. KAITO SHION<strong>_

** Funeral services for Mrs. Kaito Shion are planned for 6:00 pm tomorrow at Our  
>Savior Catholic Church in Seranada. Mrs. Shion is survived by her husband, Kaito,<br>recently serving in France with the 23rd division, a daughter, Ppoine, and a sister,  
>Gumi Hiirone.<br>**

* * *

><p>Kaito Shion had promised to take care of Miki and now he would need taking care of. In late December, more than a year after the war had ended, he finally wrote to say that they were sending him home.<p>

"I can't believe," the final paragraph began, "that in a month or two, I'll hold your warm, sweet self again, my little Mocking bird."

There was more, but Gumi, blushing, quickly folded the letter and hurriedly stuffed it back into the flimsy envelope. From New York came a final telegram: "HOME FEBRUARY 12 STOP 3:35 TRAIN". Gumi was a little surprised. Surely the letter she'd sent him had reached him by now. Surely, he knew how little was left for him in Seranada. But here he was, coming just the same.

"He'll take the train to Paris. And then another train from Paris to the coast. And then he'll get on a ship, a boat bigger than a house." Many times Gumi had traced Ppoine's little fingers across the globe to trace Kaito's route across a world too vast for such a young child's comprehension. With her hand gently wrapped around Ppoine's, she lift and point to the places he might have passed, where he should be next, and about just how far away it is. Ppoine only wanted to make the globe spin, but she was interested.

"Where is my daddy now?" she'd ask every night when Gumi tucked her into the bed that they were sharing.

"He's having his breakfast now, a nice soft-boiled egg." Gumi had been pleasantly surprised at how easily Ppoine accepted the notion of the time difference, as if she thought that the most outlandish things were likely to be true in a place as far away as France or on a boat big enough to sail the ocean.

"And what else?" Ppoine asked.

"And a piece of fish. With bones. You wouldn't like it."

"And then what else will he do?"

"I don't know, Ppoine. But what I do know is that we should go to sleep now."

Gumi regretted having told Ppoine anything about Kaito. With every word, he came nearer and nearer and grew larger.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Gumi<strong>_

* * *

><p>Who knew what "my daddy" meant to Ppoine? There was a father in "Hansel and Gretel" and a Papa Bear in "Goldilocks". Neither of them was much good. I didn't think Kaito was much good, either, I can tell you that.<p>

Kaito and Miki met on the Fourth of July when Miki was only seventeen. She'd insisted on going to Shental for the parade. Miku Hatsune was going. Iroha Nekomura, Len Kagamine, Kazumi, Merlot and Mellowly Shirasagi_**—**_all of them were going. It was a party, so she had to go, too.

"You'll go, won't you Gumi?" she begged. She knew my father wouldn't let her go to anything like that without a chaperone.

We were late and the street was crowded, but Miki pushed to the front of the sidewalk. She was standing on her toes, waving a little flag in each hand, and the white and blue ribbons in her fiery red hair complimented the event perfectly. The ribbons were rippling in the breeze when Kaito marched by, beating a drum for the Nanem Meatpackers Band.

He was good-looking, I'll give him that. He had a fine-boned, boyish face, an easy, swinging gait and dark, navy hair that fell into his eyes—the kind of looks a girl can make a lot of, if she's so inclined. He almost lost step trying to keep her in his view, and I knew, as well as she did, that we would have company at our picnic dinner.

Finally we spilled into the street behind the last of the tottering Civil Wat veterans and picked our way through the horse manure to the park. It was hot, as it always will be in Shental in July, so it was no surprise when Miki loosened her dress at the neck and pushed up her sleeves up along her lovely arms. And if this caused her skin to brown, who cared? Not Miki. To her credit, she didn't look often over her shoulder as we laid our food under an elm, but dished out the bratwurst and potato salad and laughed with Iroha, Miku, Mellowly and the others as if nothing extraordinary would happen before they cut the cake.

And, in fact, for her, it was not extraordinary that a young man should spot her while marching by and, sooner or later, would wish to marry her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<br>**_

* * *

><p>On the morning of February 12, Gumi rose in the dark, started a fire in the kitchen stove, and went out to the barn to feed the animals and to milk. She swept the wagon bed and reminded herself to ask Al, the hired man, to lay blankets down, in case Kaito wasn't able to sit up properly in his seat.<p>

Back inside, as the sun seeped weakly through the skeletal trees, she smoothed the quilt on the daybed in the back room, conveniently off the kitchen. With his bum leg, he wouldn't be able to walk well at first. Certainly, he wouldn't be able to manage the stairs.

Oh, he would be helpless all right. She plumped the pillows vigorously and then surveyed the room with satisfaction. Would the wound still need dressing? It was possible, depending on how many muscles the shrapnel had torn, how infected it had been and how well it had been treated_**—**_Gumi had no faith in French hospitals. But then Kaito was young and strong. He would heal quickly once she got to work on him.

The narrow room was a good place for an invalid, Gumi knew. Her mother had gone there to have her headaches. It was far from the bedrooms upstairs so that a little girl playing as quietly as she could might be sometimes be quiet enough.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Gumi<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mama had the apoplexy in August, the year Miki met Kaito. I'm not blaming them, although I do know Mama disapproved. Her father had been a captain with the Union Army, she reminded us. Any daughter of hers could do much better than a butcher.<p>

"He isn't a butcher, Mama. He's a meatpacker," I said while I ate a spoonful of the vegetable soup she had made for dinner. Under the table, Miki drove the toe of her boot into my shin and scowled. But I was only speaking the truth, why did that little tidbit bother her?

Anyway, as I said, I don't blame them, although their shocking behavior certainly didn't help. I blame the weather.

It had been hot all summer, hot and so humid that just walking, just lifting your arms up over your head to take a plate out of the cupboard could make you so tired you wanted to sit down. That morning felt as if though someone had tucked a wool blanket tight over the world. Mama woke up delicate, not ill exactly, but not strong either. She hadn't slept well_**—**_no one had slept well, for weeks, it seemed. Everything seemed like a trial to her that day. The coffee tasted bitter, the clatter of the breakfast dishes hurt her ears, the oilcloth was sticky, the sun coming in the kitchen windows stung her eyes, her shoes pinched.

"One of you take the sheep down to the lower meadow this morning," my father said, his head bent over his plate.

"I'll do it!" Miki said quickly and bounced up from her seat with an impish grin on her face.

My father nodded, not thinking twice. He sliced his egg and toast in half and then turned the plate to slice them again. "Someone has to stay with Mother," he said, pushing a quarter of toast in his mouth. "She isn't well."

I'd intended to do the shopping. We needed more kerosene, sugar and brown thread, although I had hoped to go to town mostly to cool my face in the breeze during the buggy ride and to drink lemonade through a straw with ice at the counter in Nekomura's store.

My mother sighed and closed her eyes.

"I'll stay," I said.

After the others had gone, I cleared the table, while Mama sipped her coffee. I was working the pump to get the water started at the sink when I heard her say,"I think I'll lay down awhile." And then crockery crashed to the floor behind me. I dropped the pump handle and spun around. Mama's cup and saucer were smashed and coffee speckled the wall. She stood, holding her left hand in her right, and stared at them, bewildered.

"I-I don't know what happened. I just couldn't hold on to them anymore." she said, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.

"It's alright. I'll clean it up." I was already reaching for the broom while I was talking to her.

"B-but what happened? I don't know what happened," she reached for my arm and leaned her small body against mine. I let the broom go and left it in its spot and placed my hand on the small of her back to support her. We steadily walked to the daybed and I helped her lie down.

"I'll just lay down awhile, then I'll feel better, don't you think?" she looked at me trustingly, hopefully, as if I knew something.

"Of course you will. You're just tired," I assured her. And I believed what I said, because I had no medical training then.

I went back to work in the kitchen and by the time I'd finished the dishes and started the bread, she was asleep. The wind was coming up, hot and steady form the west. I decided it was a good day to wash the sheets.

Her voice drifted up the stairs as I was pulling the cases off the pillows.

"I'm cold, Gumi. Gumi, I'm cold. . ."

"Mama, you can't be cold," I called down. "It's a hundred degrees in here."

"But I'm cold." She drew out the last word until her voice quavered.

I took her summer shawl off its hook behind the door and carried it down to her.

"Why'd you take so long?"

"I was upstairs."

She pursed her thin lips, annoyed. "Put it around me. My arms feel so weak."

I spread the shawl over her, tucking it between her shoulder and the wall so it wouldn't slide off. Then I lifted her head gently and plumped the pillow under it.

"No wonder," she murmured.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." She closed her eyes.

But then, as I turned to leave, she spoke again. "I was just thinking it's no wonder that Nero decided he didn't want you. You're so rough. Like a man, almost."

I bit my lower lip, silently nodded, and briskly walked out of the room. Through the long window I could see the sheep, snatching at what little grass was left in the yard beyond the chicken coop. I stared at them, knowing that something was wrong, not knowing what, until I remembered. Miki was supposed to have taken the sheep down to the lower meadow. If the sheep were still here, then where was she?

It didn't take long for me to realize that I knew where she was at all right. I didn't bother to take off my apron. By the time the screen door slammed behind me, I was already halfway across the yard. The woods were buzzing and whirring, clicking and cooing with hot summer life. Sweat bees circled my head and spider webs clung to my neck as I pushed my way down the overgrown path. I could feel the lake before I could see it, the coolness the wind carried off the water, the sense of space beyond the last clutch of honeysuckle and blackberry bramble.

Our boat was gone as I knew it would be, but I knew where the Vista's kept theirs and I hurried along the shore to find it. It was buried in weeds, barely touched all summer. I pushed it out into the water and scrambled aboard. And then I rowed, rowed hard toward my island.

I was looking over my shoulder, awkwardly, trying to gauge how far I still had to go when I caught a glimpse of her around the far side of the island. Her hair just begs for attention. Just as I thought, there she was while the rest of us worked, out to her waist in the lake, the skirt of her bathing costume floating around her middle like a black wool lily pad.

I was angry, of course, and I had half a mind to drag her by the hair into the boat and take her home dripping to get what was coming to her. But more than that I wanted to feel the lovely water around my own ankles. We could take care of the sheep later. It would easy with the two of us working together. I was about to call to her_**—**_my lips were actually coming together to sound out her name_**—**_when I heard her squeal.

He shot out of the water like a giant pike leaping for a dragonfly, spray shimmering all around. He splashed her as he fell back. Hooting in triumph, he struck his palm expertly against the water and sent a cascade that hit her full in the face. She shrank back for a moment, and I was prepared, old as she was, to hear her wail. But instead she laughed. She dug her small hands deep beneath the water and threw at him as much as her hands could carry. She was no match for him. I could see that even as far away as I was. The water she splashed went in all directions at once. It would hardly wet him if he'd not come closer to please her, I could tell he did it to make her happy. While he was close, he splashed her back, more gently now, but still wetting her thoroughly. And so they stood there, splashing each other like children, laughing and shouting, one to the other and back again, as if no one else existed in all the world.

Suddenly, I wanted to be away. I was desperate not to be seen, alone in my boat, watching them together. I struggled to turn around, nearly losing an oar in my confusion. At last, I was able to row away from them as fast as my arms could make the oars move. I pushed as quickly and quietly back through the water as I'd come, until the island blocked my view of them and theirs of me, and I was safe.

The moment I stepped back into the house, I could tell something awful had happened. The door to the back room was open and from the kitchen I could just see the end of the daybed on which my mother's foot lay oddly twisted. Fear seized and tightened its hold on my heart as I hurried in and found her, half on the floor, her eyes open wide her and her mouth moving, but no words were coming out. She was making strange sounds, terrible sounds, like the noises a giant baby would make playing its tongue.

I dragged her back onto the daybed and covered her again with the shawl.

"Quiet," I begged, my hands were shaking so violently as I tucked her in. "Please, please be quiet."

And then I ran out of the house and went straight to the barn for a horse and rode as fast as I could to the west field to find my father.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<br>**_

* * *

><p>"Shh," Gumi said toward the ceiling of the room that was ready for Kaito. "Quiet."<p>

But she said it so softly, nearly whispering, that Ppoine, awake now upstairs, didn't pause in the spirited conversation she was having with herself. Gumi went up to fetch her, wrapped her in a blanket, and carried her down to the warm kitchen. Ppoine knew she was plenty old enough to walk, and she kicked her feet a little as they went down the stairs to prove it.

"Shall we have oatmeal?" Gumi measured it out as she asked the little toddler.

"No!" Ppoine said.

"Shall we have gingerbread?" Gumi stirred the oatmeal with a large wooden spoon as she tossed in a spoonful of sugar into the mix.

"No!"

"What shall we have, then?"

"Frogs!" Ppoine said and laughed as if she had said the funniest thing in the world. Gumi gave her a spoon and placed her, now cooled, bowl of cereal in front of her and tucked a napkin under her little chin. "When my daddy comes home," Ppoine said, pushing her spoon into her cereal, "will we go to the house with the green rug?"

"What house?"

"The house with the green rug. Where Mama is."

The sudden rush of feeling at the mention of Miki nearly choked Gumi, and she gasped, fighting to stay above it. Think of something else, she told herself frantically. Think how clever Ppoine is, describing a cemetery plot as a house with a green rug.

"Of course you can go there," she said at last. Her voice was calm and steady. "Your daddy will take you. But you understand, sweetie, that your mama's in Heaven, don't you?"

"Yes," Ppoine said, and she was conveyed a large spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth.

"And if you're very good, someday you'll go to heaven, too."

Gumi ate her breakfast standing up, so that she could attend to other chores—shaking out the kitchen rug, washing the glass pane in the front door_**—**_as she thought of them. She was rinsing her bowl when Al stamped his boots on the porch and came in. He stood in front of the stove, rocking from foot to foot, his fingers tucked under his arms. "It's a cold on," he said.

"Do you think we should bring more blankets?"

"Wouldn't hurt. Might as well pile on everything we've got."

"We'll leave at two, then."

"We'll be early."

"Well, we can't be late."

Al saluted. "Two it is, then."

She frowned. It was easy for him to make fun, but somebody had to take responsibility. Somebody had to see that things went as they ought to be.

Ppoine stirred her oatmeal and picked up a clump in her spoon, raised it high and spilled it back into the bowl.

"Ppoine, don't play with your food." Gumi took the bowl off the table and wiped the child's mouth with the dishrag. Ppoine squirmed, pulling her face away from the sour smell and pursed her tiny lips.

"Hold still."

Usually, Gumi would have urged the girl to eat more, but not today. Today there wasn't time. She went to the back door and called the dogs, who came trotting over the drift that had piled high behind the snow fence. "Come in and get warm." she said to them, setting the bowl on the floor.

Was she going to get started on the dinner or was she going to let the day get away from her? The linking of her coat was cold as she pushed her arms into the sleeves. She put on her mittens, picked up her basket and stepped outside. The air burned her cheeks and instantly froze the inside of her nose, while the sun lay bright on the snow, she had to squint her eyes nearly shut against the glare. The sky was as blue as heaven as she marched, lifting her feet high and then plunging them knee deep into the snow, making her way to the root cellar.

She banged at the ice around the cellar door with a shovel until she'd chip away enough to pry the door open. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs she was blind in the gloom of hte cellar, after the bright sun outside. She had to stand still for a moment, one hand pressed against the dank wall, waiting for her eyes to adjust. At least she could make out the vegetables in their barrels and bins.

She would offer to buy his half of the farm, she thought, piling potatoes, apples, carrots, onions, and more potatoes in her basket. Not right away, but in time, when he'd healed and was growing restless. He would certainly be restless. He was no farmer, after all, ad he was hardly a father. Hadn't he gone off when Ppoine was only toddling the minute he heard the guns? He would be happy to have some cash, happy to be free to start his life again. And then everything would go back to the way it should be. She and Ppoine would go on living on the farm. She would raise Ppoine. After all, a girl needed a mother. Isn't that what Miki would have wanted?

The thought of her sister made Gumi's heart beat hard and her breath come in shallow gasps. There wasn't enough air in the cold, dark cellar. Abandoning the vegetables that rolled out of her basket and onto the floor, she stumbled up the packed earth stairs and out into the brilliant blue sky.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>Some weeks later, when Mama was a little better, not talking normally, but no longer making those hideous sounds, I told my father what I had seen Miki and Kaito doing together at the island.<p>

I was sure that he would send her away to "think things over," the way he had sent me to cousin FL-Chan when Nero was courting me. Instead, he only sighed as he smoothed my mother's wavy hair with her silver-handed brush.

"A son-in-law would be nice," he said at last. "And now that Miki's out of school, she can help with your mother. You could go to nursing school, just like you've always wanted."

My hands balled up into tight fists and I felt my mouth stretch into a thin line. What was he thinking? I couldn't go to nursing school now! Not now when Mama needed me more than ever.

One day, Miss Amane and Mrs. Akane stopped me on the street.

"Isn't it wonderful, all your parents are doing for the young people?" they exclaimed, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues with delight. They said it as if though I was one of them and not like my sister, not a young person at all. People like a wedding, it seems. They don't care who is marrying or what it will do to other people's lives.

I was Miki's maid of honor. I wished them all the happiness in the world. And then I applied to nursing school. As I had always wanted.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>Gumi peeled potatoes, dropping the finished ones into a pot of cold water so they wouldn't go gray.<p>

"Hungry," Ppoine said, coming to stand at her knee.

"You should have eaten more of your breakfast, then, shouldn't you? I don't have time to be feeding you all day."

But when she was done peeling the potatoes, she got up and spread a slice of bread with butter and pressed down brown sugar thickly over that.

"You sit right here and eat it, now," she said, holding out the sandwich over Ppoine's head until the child scrambled onto a chair. "I don't want sugar and crumbs all over my nice clean floor. Do you understand?" she asked and smiled when Ppoine nodded her head, a bite of sandwich in her mouth.

"You didn't have to make such a big dinner today," Al said as they sat down to pork chops and scalloped potatoes. "Kaito's bound to be hungry. I could've waited."

"We have our big meal at noon here," Gumi said. "He knows that."

"Well, for one night, I mean."

"I'm sure Kaito wouldn't want us changing everything we do, just to suit him, Al." Gumi put a piece of meat into her mouth and chewed fiercely. "Do you have the wagon ready?"

"Just about," Al said and he dug into his potatoes without further comment.

When they'd finished, Al took the extra blankets out to the barn and Gumi put bricks in the stove to heat. Then she called Ppoine in from the yard, where the girl was tumbling in the snow. Gumi rolled her eyes and half led her, half dragged her up the stairs to dress.

How had the child gotten burrs in her hair in the middle of winter, Gumi marveled, as she gently picked apart Ppoine's masts. Every few seconds, she couldn't resist bending down close to rub her face against the girl's impossibly soft cheek, fiery red from the cold. Just like her mother's ha_— _

Gumi stopped after that. When she finally thread the last burr out of Ppoine's hair, she peeled everything off that Ppoine was wearing and started fresh. Clean underwear first, a cotton shirt with long sleeves, long wool stocking, three little petticoats, her best dress, and then a pinafore after that.

Last night, just in time, Gumi had finished knitting a fancy sweater for Ppoine to wear specially that afternoon. It had a cream-colored background and was studded with rosebuds of five different colors, each one a French knot. The whole thing had taken her months. She held it up now for Ppoine to see.

"Isn't it gorgeous, Ppoine?"

Ppoine fingered a colored nub. ". . . I like the blue ones. And the red ones. What's that color?" she asked, pointing the one in between the two.

"That's green. They're flowers. Roses."

"Roses," Ppoine repeated.

"Now, hold out your arm for me."

It was difficult to get the sweater on now that Ppoine was so fattened with fabrics, but after some time tugging and flattening, Gumi had wormed Ppoine in and she buttoned it up to the girl's chin. Ppoine looked a little stiff, like a doll.

"Oh, you little angel~!" Gumi cooed, giving Ppoine a light squeeze. She grinned and patted Ppoine's cheeks a bit.

Ppoine frowned. "Itchy." She started to tug on the neck.

"No honey, you'll stretch it."

"No! Itchy! It's itchy!" Ppoine squirmed and stamped her little foot. She began to undo the buttons.

"Ppoine, it's not itchy." Gumi pulled the girl's fingers away from the buttons and redid the two Ppoine had managed to unfasten. "Wait until you get outside. It'll be nice and warm then. You'll like it."

Ppoine threw her head back and screamed to the ceiling. "No! Itchy!" She yanked at the collar and at the ends of her arms.

Gumi grabbed a hold of her wrist and Ppoine let her knees go limp. She hung from Gumi's hands, shaking her head wildly and kicking her heels against the floor.

"Ppoine Hiirone Shion! Stand up! You mind me now!"

The girl was light and easy to compact, easy to maneuver despite her struggling. With one swift movement, Gumi drew her against her knee. She swung hard, but her hand bounced off the thick material covering Ppoine's bottom. Ppoine barely felt it, but the shock of being punished made her scream harder.

"Be quiet!" Gumi shouted, louder than Ppoine. "Be quiet!"

And then, quite suddenly, she burst into tears herself. "Quiet," she was weeping the words now,"please. Please be quiet."

Ppoine looked at her with surprise. And then she, too, began to cry.

Gumi sank to the floor beside Ppoine and lifted her onto her lap. She bent over her, so that Ppoine fit like a snug bundle against her body and tucked her cheek over the girl's head.

"Oh, my baby," she crooned, gently rocking her. "My poor baby girl."

After a while she sniffed and sat up. The sweater had twisted. She straightened it and refastened the buttons that had come undone.

"Come on, let's wash our faces." Ppoine stood near the basin while Gumi wiped a cold washcloth first over Ppoine's face and then over her own.

"And now I'll have to do your hair again." Gumi lifted Ppoine so that she stood on the chair in front of the vanity. There they were in the mirror, eyes swollen, hair tangled, not at all the sweet picture Gumi had envisioned earlier. For the second time in twenty minutes, Gumi worked a brush through Ppoine's snarls.

"Do you want a bow?" It was taking a chance, asking, because Ppoine had to wear one. Really, the whole outfit would be ruined if she didn't wear a bow. The red one, of course, it would have to be the red one. But Gumi felt sure Ppoine would want it. She held it on top of Ppoine's head for the girl to see. Perfect.

"Now, doesn't that look pretty?"

"No."

Grimly, Gumi slid the pins under the ribbon anyway, securing it to Ppoine's fine, light hair.

"Run in your room now and play while I get ready," she said, lifting her down from the chair. To her great relief, Ppoine did what she was told to do and wobbled away.

After Ppoine was gone, Gumi turned and looked at herself in the vanity mirror and sighed. _His leg would heal, and then he would go_, she reminded herself.

She pulled the brush through her short hair, suddenly feeling exhausted. She placed the brush down and stared at her reflection long and hard._He might promise to send money. Ppoine would probably get a card from him every now and again. And then, after about a year or so, the cards will stop coming_.

He would have a new life somewhere and she and Ppoine would have theirs, right here where they belong.

* * *

><p>AN:

So sorry for the late update! I guess I tried to compensate it by making this chapter longer than the last one. I'll try to be quicker on the next one, it should be out in about. . . two weeks, I'm guessing?

Well, feedback is appreciated. Thank you all for reading! ^^


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:

Finally finished chapter three! Only 17 more to go. X'D

Thank you for those who have reviewed!

*_AnimeCatMew_— Thank you so much for the compliments! It's actually suppose to be a bit confusing since this switches POVs and time frames at certain points into the story. But no worries, it'll tie together towards the last chapters of the story, I've get them all written out by hand. Now all I have to do is type the rest out. XD

*_The Queen of Double Standards_— I'm glad that you like it so far! Haha, well, wait no more, it's finally here. XD I hope this meets your expectations as well! And I'll try to upload this story often whenever I can. ^^

*_xFearlessPurple21x_— FEARLESS! *glomps* I honestly didn't expect for you to read this. ^^ I'm glad that you like these kind of stories, I'm trying to keep at doing new things with my writing. I think I may be trying to hard at different styles, but I want to try my hand at this for a while. Since it's going to be pretty long, maybe it'll motivate me enough to want to finish up the other multi-chapter stories that I have.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>From the train, Kaito could see them waiting on the freezing platform, Gumi holding a little girl, his little girl it had to be, on her hip. When he stood in the doorway of the car, Gumi pointed and bent her head to the girl's ear. The girl raised a mittened hand and waved vaguely. Her eyes were on a dog with a red collar far down the platform. She might have been waving at anyone.<p>

He could walk only slowly, using two canes. It took a long time to make his way to them, step after faltering, unsteady step, along the platform that threatened to slide out form under him, against an ice y wind that did its best to beat him back. Gumi set Ppoine down, but the girl didn't run to meet him. The two of them stood like stones, waiting for him to come to them.

"Say hello to your daddy, Ppoine. Can you give your daddy a kiss?"

Gumi gave Ppoine a little push with her palm against the back of the child's head, but Ppoine shook the hand off and stepped behind her aunt's skirt. She peeked back at the tall man in front of her who looked just as confused as she did.

"My daddy is far away."

Gumi shrugged at Ppoine's response. "Never mind, Kaito," she said. "You know how children are."

To be quite frank, he didn't. He had no idea.

In the street, Al was holding the horse. He took Kaito's hand and helped into the wagon. _He's relieved_, Kaito thought, _to have another man here_, and he closed his eyes for a moment under the weight of that responsibility.

Al lifted Ppoine and was about to swing her up and over the wagon's side to settle her in beside Kaito when Gumi stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Ppoine wants to sit up front with me," she said, with a forced smile.

She mounted to the seat and turned, holding her arms out for her girl and then with a lurch they were off.

The train blew its whistle, as the wagon was turning onto the road out of town. Kaito watched the cars heave themselves away from the platform, gather speed, and finally slip smoothly away, carrying men on to St. Anzu and Terra Falls and Mentamis and Hokanise.

He lay back on his bed of hay and blankets and stared straight up at the dizzying pattern of branches against the darkening sky, so that he wouldn't have to witness the familiar route to the Hiirone farm and think how different his homecoming might have been. Al looked back at him once or twice.

"The trip's worn him out,"he said to Gumi. "Give him a couple of days. He'll be better."

"Up and about in no time," Gumi agreed. _Up and about in no time. . ._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>It was obvious right from the start that he wasn't going to be able to take care of Ppoine. She didn't take to him, for one thing. I could see that right off. And he made no effort, no effort at all. He was exactly as I'd expected him to be.<p>

Miki and Kaito married in December, only six months after they'd met. It was a strange time for a wedding, people said with knowing smiles, and they were right, although they knew nothing. It never would have happened so fast if our father had been himself, if our mother had not been ill.

Rumors sprang up like prairie fires, but I beat them down. People ought to have known by then that Miki was a good girl. She was only impatient.

Kaito was nothing special, though, as far as I could see. He took Miki to all the dances, and I have to admit this, he was a stylish dancer. However, the boy couldn't say two words unless the subject involved ice cream and snow. That wasn't the only thing about him that didn't settle well with me. He didn't have a single penny to his name. Just how in the world will he be able to support her?

A month before her wedding, during the time where Miki and I were deciding on the style and flavor of cake, I decided to voice my opinion. "You don't get married for a dance partner," I told her, but my sister was rash and stubborn. She wouldn't take advice from me. What did I know about why people got married? Miki seemed absolutely positive about her decision, that it was the right one. Who was I to try and persuade her that it was wrong? There was still time, why the rush? But being her, she would always get her way.

My mother was too ill to manage the ceremony, so I helped her into her pink bed jacket, and she waited, propped against the pillows, for the newly married couple to come to her.

"Look at these flowers Kaito gave me, Mama!" Miki said, pushing the sheaf of forced lilies so close under our mother's nose that she drew her head back in alarm. "Isn't he something to get flowers like these in December?" She held the lilies before her, her elbow crooked gracefully to support their heads, posing as she bride. "Gumi," she said to me, "can you please run down and get me a vase?"

Mama tried to say something. She clenched and unclenched the fingers of her good hand and worked her mouth around some incoherent syllables. Finally, she stretched her hand toward us. I took it.

"What is it Mama? What do you want?"

But she shook her head and pulled her hand away. She reached for Kaito. She meant for _him_ to take her hand.

"Gumi, please run down and get a vase," Miki said again. "I want to leave the flowers in here for Mama."

On my way out of the room, I paused at the door to look back. What a pretty picture they made. Miki had passed the lilies to Kaito and he stood holding them for her while he told my father what he could to help around now that he and Miki are married.

Beside him, Miki, with the ringlets I'd spent hours curling with hot irons that morning falling around her small face, bent to arranger her own silk scarf around our mother's throat. Apparently I hadn't dressed her warmly enough.

I can't explain what happened next. I'm usually so careful, you see, especially with Mama's crystal. She was enormously proud of those pieces— the eleven goblets, the water pitcher and the vase with its fluted edge. She very seldom used them. And how I wished I hadn't thought to use the vase that day, but it just seemed perfect for this special occasion.

I planted the feet of the stool firmly, so that all four were steady, and I climbed until I stood on the top and even then I had to stretch, go on my toes a little, reach with my fingers. I had the case securely in my hands. I know I did. But then, somehow, it was gone. I was holding nothing and with a crash that makes me sick even to think of it now, the case hit the floor.

They came running then, Miki and Kaito and our father down the stairs, Al from the kitchen, and I stood above them on the stool and started at my faithless fingers. I hoped, I think, that there would be blood, that I would have some kind of hurts to excuse what I'd done, but there was none, only the points of glass spread across the floor.

Kaito began to pick up the pieces, asking if we had any glue, and Miki bent down to help him. But I went to get the broom and pushed them aside. It was ruined. And the sooner we all realized that, the better.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>From his bed, Kaito watched through the kitchen doorway as Ppoine ate her bacon and turnips. He spoke once, asking her in a false, jovial voice if she liked turnips. He'd never liked them himself, he explained, going on too long, listening to his own voice as if to a stranger's. Ppoine didn't answer. Instead, she turned onto her stomach and slithered down from her chair, crossed the room and shut the door between them.<p>

"This house is so noisy," she said with a frown while she was struggling to get back up in her seat to finish up her supper.

Gumi scolded Ppoine and hurried to open the door again, but it was funny, hearing her own words in the little girl's mouth like that. Gumi couldn't help but smile.

"Say goodnight to your daddy, Ppoine," Gumi said when the table was cleared. And when the child didn't, as they both knew she wouldn't, Kaito saw Gumi smile again with satisfaction, although she tried to hide it by lowering her head. She couldn't fool him.

He listened to Ppoine's steady footfalls, two to a stair, ad then to the creaks in the floorboards, to the shrieks of the bureau drawers, and then he heard sobbing, a sound surprisingly different from the thin, penetrating cry he remembered rising from Ppoine when she was an infant.

Poor thing, with no mother to comfort her, afraid of the dark, he thought at first and tried to get up from the bed to see if he could tame the cry. After slipping several times, he managed to get up from the bed, albeit a painful process, but he stopped when he realized that Ppoine was not crying at all, but laughing.

"Again!" She shouted. "Again!"

Gumi was upstairs a long while. He slipped back into bed and had almost fallen asleep by the time she came down and began to wash the dishes.

"I shouldn't have let her get so wound up," she said. "She's just like Miki that way, never wanting to go to sleep."

Kaito didn't remember that about Miki. He remembered watching her dream in the early mornings, the way she burrowed into the blankets, so that only the tip of her head stuck out and he would absentmindedly play around with that long strand of hair that defied gravity, the way she flung her arm around him and held him tight without knowing she did so. But Gumi was probably right. She'd live with her sister for almost twenty years whereas he'd only been her husband for three, and for more than one of those they'd not even been in the same country.

Gumi moved expertly about her kitchen, washing her dishes, putting things away, and Kaito was reminded that he didn't know where things belonged.

"Maybe Ppoine and I should move back out to the island," he suggested.

"That's hardly practical."

"I guess you're right."

Gumi shook out her dishcloth with a snap. "We'll have you on your feet in no time."

"sure," he said, making an effort to sound hearty, to behave as if everything would be fine very soon. "I'll be ready to work by planting."

Gumi blew out the lamp and the kitchen went black.

"We'll see," she said from the darkness.

He listened to her steps, heavy on the stairs, and the floor creaking in her room, and finally even the mattress taking her in. and then he could hear only the wind worrying the shingles and the windowpanes.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Gumi<strong>_

* * *

><p>After Miki and Kaito were married, I had to sleep in the small room off the kitchen. All winter I could hear their whispering and laughing in the night. I could hear their bed moving.<p>

Then they needed a house all to themselves, a house on my island, that's what Miki proposed. All spring and summer they worked on it, but every day they rowed back to the farm, Kaito to help my father and Miki to visit our mother, who was much recovered then, and to help do the chores around the house. There was no longer any need for me at all. The university had accepted my application to nursing school and I began to pack my trunk.

I was certainly something the day I waited on the platform in my new hat, the whole family there to see me off.

They gave me presents— a silver fountain pen from my parents to use to write letters to them, a red Moroccan leather notebook from Miki to keep daily logs of my day and a bluebird house from Kaito, which surprised me because I did like birds, but you wouldn't think a boy would notice something like that.

I thanked him, of course. I admired the fine workmanship (he made it himself) and the cunning shingles set in the roof, the little shutters around the entrance, that made it look like a real house. But how did he think I'd be able to carry such a thing all the way in Mekina? Where did he expect me to put it when I got there?_ I_ wouldn't have any split-rail fence to hang it on. I'd be lucky if I had a window to call my own.

"I'll keep it for you!" Miki said. "Then when you can come back home you can use it."

They stood on the platform as the train pulled away, all of them waving but my sister, whose hands were full.

I'm not blaming them, a married couple needs a place to live, after all. Still, they'd not built their house on my island, Miki would not have drowned. If you look at it one way, it's as simple as that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>Kaito dreamed of Miki often without even trying. He thought about her when he lay in bed and he'd let his thoughts drift off and see that petite young woman that used to hold dearly to. Sometimes he thought about the day they had met, how he had taken her on the roller coaster and how she had loved it. She wanted to ride again and again, and he had thanked God that he had enough money to treat her over and over.<p>

He had discovered after the first ride that he disliked the roller coaster himself— the sudden drops made him feel sick to his stomach— but it was worth it to have her clinging onto his arm, listen to her happy screams, to feel her smooth hair against his face. He would have ridden with her all afternoon had her sister, waiting grimly at the bottom, their picnic basket over her arm, not finally grow impatient.

"Enough's enough. You always go too far," Gumi had said and wrapped her fingers tightly around Miki's wrist. She dragged her off, almost before he was able to say goodbye. When Miki turned to wave at him with her free hand before the crowd closed behind them, he congratulated himself for having the foresight an hour earlier to have asked her where she lived.

That was what he usually thought about before he would drift off to sleep, but his dreams, as usual, wouldn't be steered. They took him far from Miki, back to France where the grey smoke mingled with the grey fog, into the foxhole where he had been resting with Kaiga and Kagone, two fellows from his squad, before a blast tossed him, limbs twisted in every direction, onto the half-frozen mud like a sack of potatoes. He remembered leaving the ground but not returning to it.

He'd opened his eyes at the sound of groaning. It was Seiichi Kagone, about twenty feet away, struggling to pick himself up. Between them, Shin Kaiga lay in a heap, unmoving. Kaito was about to call Kagone when he saw the man stiffen, an odd, horrified look on his face. He followed Kagone's gaze to the rim of the foxhole. Three Hun's were staring down at them, bayonets affixed.

His body started involuntarily, but the Germans didn't even glance his way. They must have assumed that he was dead, or at least knocked unconscious. Already they were clambering into the foxhole, moving towards Kagone, who had managed to get to his knees.

One of them stopped where Kaiga was heaped and used his bayonet to roll him onto his back. There was something wrong with Kaiga, Kaito could see. Something funny about his head.

"_Tot_," the Heinie said and Kaito realized that half of Shin's head was missing.

"_My gun_," Kaito thought and he believed he was reaching for it, believed even that he was standing, ready to fire it into their backs, but it was only an illusion. His body stayed frozen, stuck to the earth.

And then red.

That was how this dream that wasn't a dream always ended, with red that washed everything else away.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ · · · ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>It was still dark when the door slammed and Gumi came in, cheeks pink, feet stamping, the milking done.<p>

"Ready for breakfast?" she asked, sticking her head around his door. Cold clouded around her and she blew on her fingertips.

Ppoine was already at the table by the time he'd made his way into the kitchen and collapsed on a chair. Like a dog guarding its food, she kept her eyes on Kaito as she scooped cornflakes into her mouth, her fist clutched awkwardly around her spoon. Gumi cracked eggs smartly against the edge of a blue enamel bowl.

"If you want to visit her grave first thing, Big Al'll take you," she said. "Ppoine is all set to go along, aren't you Ppoine?" She wiped the girl's face with a dishrag and lifted her down from her chair.

The thought startled him. He realized he'd been half imagining Miki away somewhere, visiting a cousin, or perhaps living in the island house. He was almost expecting her to return.

"I-I really don't think I'm up to it," he replied in a quivering voice.

"Oh, but Kaito," she reproached him,"you really should. What will the people think? And here," she added, stepping out to the porch and coming back with a handful of branches studded with red berries. "I thought you might want to take these. I know they aren't really flowers, but you can't be choosy this time of year."

Ppoine stood on her tiptoes and reached her arms high."Pretty," she said. "Pretty."

"No, no honey. These aren't for you. See, they've got thorns."

She pricked her finger and a red bead of blood appeared. She held it up for Ppoine to see as if it were a prize.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ppoine<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Ho," he said and Josephine stopped. I saw over the wall where all the stones were.<p>

"Hup," Al said and I was in the air and then I was on the snow.

The snow was hard, like crackers. There were not footprints on it. I was careful. I slid my feet. I tried not to let the snow break. The man that was my daddy let me. He didn't make me hurry. He punched the snow with his canes. Punch, step. Punch, step. I wished I had a cane to do that.

We went past the mean grey stones and the stone that was sleeping and the one with the boat. I knew the way. Aunt Gumi and I had been here lots of times. We went up the hill, then down the other side. We went to the stone that said my mama's name. It had shiny ice all over it.

He said,"Miki," and I knew he meant my mama.

I looked behind the stone like I always did. Aunt Gumi said she was there, too, but I never saw her.

"Where is she?" Aunt Gumi would never tell me, but maybe he would.

"In heaven," he whispered, that same old answer that wasn't any good to me.

And he was crying.

I cried then, too, because he was crying. I don't like to see that man cry. "Then why don't we go there and get her?"

Heaven was a place where we lived with Aunt Gumi, before my mama never came back.

"Someday you will," he said,"but not for a very long time."

I put my hand on the slippery ice stone. I slid my mitten over it, back and forth. I waited for him to say better get home. But he just stayed kneeling in the snow.

"Why did she go to heaven?"

"She drowned, Ppoine. She went under the water too long and she couldn't get back up."

So then I knew I was right. Heaven was the place where we had lived, because that was where the water was.

"She drowned me, too," I said. "The baby was crying and crying."

"What baby?"

"The ice baby. When Aunt Gumi didn't wait for us."

"What are you talking about? When didn't Gumi wait for you?"

"When I drowned."

He was crying and he was smiling. "Don't worry, Ppoine."

He wiped the crying off his face and put a hand on my head. "You didn't drown. You're right here with me."

After he finished saying that, he hugged me really tight and rocked me back and forth.

I was here, but he wasn't there.

So how did he know?

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>When Kaito returned with Ppoine from the churchyard, he got back into bed and stayed there. Gumi opened the curtains each morning, registering her disapproval with every yank on the fabric.<p>

"Ready?" she asked, but she didn't mean it as a question.

Surprisingly, after the first few times, he was ready. Twice a day, morning and evening, she unceremoniously threw back the blanket, exposing him to the chilly air, and scrubbed his wounded leg with brisk efficiency. Then she bent the leg, twisted it, pushed and prodded it with her long, thin fingers, until he yelped in pain.

"Oh, for pity's sake," she said,"bite on a pillow if you have to make that noise. We can't have you scaring Ppoine." And as she wrapped honey-covered cloths around the hole, she warned him,"I'll have to keep this up until you start doing this for yourself."

He nodded and promised to try, but he had no interest in making himself better. It was all he could do to sit in a chair and eat the coddled eggs and soup she brought him, while she pounded his pillows into fluffiness and changed his sheets, snapping the clean linen once or twice in the air, before she allowed it to settle around the mattress.

She scared him. He knew she disapproved of him, that she hadn't though him good enough for her sister. He'd tried to woo her with the birdhouse that he had made to get her approval, but it hadn't worked and Miki had cried the day she had to carry it back home from the train. He knew she didn't want to talk about how Miki had died, but the pain in his leg made him angry and bold.

"Gumi," he said one night when she came in with his medicine,"why were you living on the island?"

She looked straight at him with her hard, green eyes. "Why Kaito, that was your home. Of course, that was where Miki wanted to be. Did you take your medicine?"

"Yes. But why did she leave it, then? Where did she go?" Kaito pushed himself up, so he was sitting tall against the pillows. "You know what I don't understand," he continued without pausing to let Gumi answer,"why she would've left Ppoine. Why would she have left Ppoine in the house at night alone?"

"Ppoine wasn't alone, Kaito. She was with me." Gumi went to the window and stood with her back to him, her form reflected in the dark glass. "Besides, you know how reckless she was, Kaito. Miki was always taking chances, always doing things she shouldn't have done, things I told her not to do. She probably thought it was a fine night for skating and she didn't think to test the ice. That would be just like her." She pulled the curtains closed and turned to face him.

"Was she wearing her skates, then? When they found her?"

An exasperated sound escaped Gumi's lips before she could stop herself and swept her hand through the air. "She's dead, Kaito! Why does it matter now?"

He felt his heart sink and looked down at his hands.

"But. . . I loved her," was all he could think to say. "Why can't I know?" He knew he sounded like a little boy, but he couldn't help himself.

"If you loved her, you should understand. Love makes you do things and afterwards you wish. . ." Her face was so hard and bitter, it scared him and made him clench the blanket to his chest. "But then it's too late. You can only be sorry." Her mood changed, and she patted his feet, briskly, while he forced himself to hold them steady under her hand. "I've got something I'll bet you'd to see."

She went out of the room, but before he could relax, she was back.

"Here," she said, opening a scrapbook on his lap, where it pressed against his sore leg. "Look. It was in the newspaper. This should tell you what you want to know."

She stopped at the door on her way out. "Kaito," she said,"I know you're sorry you left her." And then she left him alone.

The clippings seemed to him to have nothing to do with his Miki. They told him nothing that mattered, nothing that explained. Miki disappearing in the night— it didn't make sense to him. And what did Gumi mean about his being sorry and people doing things out of love? Had Miki done something desperate because he had left? She had begged him to stay, but wasn't that what every wife would do, and they didn't all drown. Near what he now knew was the end of her life, he hadn't gotten the letters from her he'd expected, but that was the Army's fault, wasn't it?

No, he couldn't imagine Miki drowning herself for the love of him. He'd have to ask Gumi more questions, someday when she was in a better mood and when he felt stronger. Perhaps, he mused sleepily, it had been some other woman they'd found frozen. And maybe tomorrow or the next day or the day after that, Miki would come back.

She would stand right there in the doorway, looking like her sweet, petite self with that warm, kind smile that would grace her features. He remembered her smile. He sighed to himself and flipped through the album. There were pictures of Miki bent over baby Ppoine with an adoring smile; Miki, both proud and amused, posing with her ankles neatly crossed for their wedding portrait; Miki, her lank hair escaping her braids, third from the left in a grade school photograph; baby Miki on her father's lap.

He looked through a clutch of pictures no one had bothered to mount that had been pinched between the pages and back cover. In one, Miki and Gumi sat on the edge of the porch. Miki was looking away from the camera, her eyes narrowed like a cat's, as if she were trying to make out some form in the distance. Kaito pretended she was gazing beyond the border of the photograph at him.

He wouldn't have called her reckless. Impulsive, maybe. Willful, certainly. And decisive. He remembered her haste to marry, once she'd accepted his proposal. But she was never crazy. He couldn't imagine her wandering onto thin ice in the middle of the night. But as he closed the book, Kaito reminded himself that in the last couple years he'd seen people do things he could never have imagined. Sometimes there was no knowing what people would do. She was gone anyway. He wouldn't see her again. Burying his head in his pillow, trying his best to drown out those horrid thoughts, and waited for his dreams to take him away.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Kaito's wound interested Gumi. It was the kind she hadn't seen often at the hospital, the kind that would get better despite the infections that had slowed its healing. She hadn't expected that he wouldn't want to improve, but it didn't matter much. His body went on its business all the same, oozing its cleansing pus and growing its scars. He didn't have any say in the matter. That, and his persistent nagging about what had happened to Miki, how he couldn't just forget about her.<p>

During the day, Ppoine nosed around the door of Kaito's room, curious as a cat. Often, when he opened his eyes, he would see her face pressed to the crack between the door and the door frame, staring at him. When she was sure he'd seen her, she scurried away.

She began to bring him bits from outside. She set them on the end of his bed when she thought he was sleeping: an oak gall, three pine cones, a railroad spike, a cardinal's feather. She lured him out.

"Where did you find all this?" he asked, limping his way towards her one day when she was still having her breakfast.

At first she said nothing.

And then she said,"Outside."

And at last she said,"Do you want to go outside?"

"Do you think your Aunt Gumi would be okay with that?" he asked with a wry smile.

Ppoine said nothing and, again, she ran out the door to head on outside again.

He took that as a no.

But finally, on one of those days when spring blusters its way through a chink in winter, when the sky was a soft blue and water rushed through the ditches, he managed to bypass Gumi's wishes. He'd been watching Ppoine from his bed as she ran and slid in the slush and soggy grass in the backyard, chasing the ducks and geese with her arms spread wide. Impulsively, he reached for one of his canes and tapped on the glass to get her attention. Startled, she turned toward the window.

He waved and she, still running, raised a hand to wave back. And somehow, well, it was no great surprise, the ground being slippery and uneven, her coordination still not fully formed, she lost her balance and went down hard.

He was up and out of bed before he thought and then, when the black dizziness swarmed over his eyes, he was just as quickly down again. It passed and he struggled to his feet. Staggering and swaying, leaning heavily on both canes, Kaito made his way out the door to rescue his little girl. But if he expected to find her sobbing on the ground, he didn't know Ppoine. Long before he was back on his feet, she was darting at the duck who had waddled close to see what sort of creature had made such a splat. Her grin, her baby teeth shockingly white in the midst of her muddy face, was the last thing Kaito saw before one cane slid right, the other left, and he found himself sprawling and crawling through the slush in nothing but his thin nightshirt and pants. Ppoine stood over him and laughed at her father's clever trick.

"What you do, Daddy? What you do?"

Kaito couldn't help himself and started laughing with her but stopped when he felt something chilly and wet slide down his face. Ppoine had flinged mud on his face and bursted out in another fit of wild giggles. With a sly grin, he scooped a handful and did the same, getting her square on the chest, and couldn't help himself to throw more when she retaliated. He even momentarily forgot about the cold.

Gumi laughed when she met them, soaked and filthy, struggling in the back door, but she soon set her mouth in a firm line. After all, Kaito had to be made to realize the extra work he'd created, gallivanting around with Ppoine. It wasn't bath day, but she'd have to heat the water now, and the state of their clothes meant a morning's struggle over the washtub, and she doubted if even that would be enough to get Ppoine's coat clean.

Every day, from then on, Kaito and Ppoine went out to play together and Gumi, going about her tasks, found herself half irritated and half charmed when she came upon them making snow angels or racing sticks in the freezing ditch water. She had to admit that it wasn't altogether unpleasant to have Kaito around, even though he still wasn't much help with the chores in his state, but nonetheless, she was tolerable of him. If he were to stay through the fall, she could get the farm working well again, and then she could always hire another man next spring.

"I'll take Ppoine into town with me today," she announced at breakfast one day in early April, "unless you two have other plans."

"Well, we _were_ going to start building our playhouse, but that can wait until this afternoon," Kaito replied and ruffled Ppoine's hair before pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

"You could help Al fix that wagon."

"Only if you agree to pick up the mail."

"I always do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>In the post office, Ppoine waited patiently for the cocoa Gumi had promised her, amusing herself by passing her hand back and forth through the dust motes in a shaft of sunlight. The air inside was chilly and dank and smelled of wood and glue.<p>

"Spring's coming," Sayu Yurika, the postmistress, said brightly. She'd say that to everyone who'd come in that day. It was a nice, safe thing to say.

"I hope so," Gumi responded.

Sayu was satisfied. Most people said something along those lines.

Gumi picked up a page from an old circular and accordion-pleated pamphlet and flipped through it while she waited for Sayu to sort through the pile of mail behind the counter.

"I hear Kaito's getting better."

"Oh yes, much better, thank you."

"He's lucky he's got you to help out with Ppoine."

Gumi flushed. Helping Kaito with Ppoine? Was that how they saw it? That wasn't how it was at all.

"Well, a girl needs a mother," she finally said.

While the women talked, Ppoine, placing her feet precisely heel to toe, so as to follow the path of a single floorboard, made her way to the low-hung window at the front of the post office. An automobile was rolling slowly up the street. Ppoine's experience with motor cars was limited, and she'd never seen one like this, with a special seat in the rear for riding backwards. When the car stopped, the boy in this seat stood up, bent his knees, and jumped to the ground, his unbuttoned coat flying out behind him like a cape. He waited beside the car, polishing its bright black flank with his sleeve, until the man who'd been driving came around. Together they started up the steps of the post office, and Ppoine hurried back to stand beside Gumi.

"I guess this is it," Sayu said as she laid a small pile of catalogs and bills on the counter. "No letters today."

Gumi put the mail in her basket and turned to go, taking Ppoine by the hand. Just then the door flew open, admitting a rush of fresh April air. Gumi's heart seized as if it might stop beating right there and then in the middle of the Serenada Post Office.

The man in the doorway smiled at her slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching and his eyes crinkling fondly, as if they shared a private joke. "Megumi."

Gumi looked at the floor for a moment in confusion. Finally, relying on convention, she gave Ppoine a little tug, so that the child stood between her and the man.

"Say how do you do to Mr. Yonné, Ppoine."

"Hajya do," Ppoine said obediently, but she meant it for the boy. He was older than she, which would have been enough to make him interesting, but something else about him fascinated her. He was wearing a pair of glasses, very small to fit his face and very round. Ppoine hadn't thought that children could wear glasses. She wanted to try them on. Did things look different from behind them?

The boy looked down at her through his two windows rimmed in gold.

"Hi," he said, sticking his hand out importantly,"I'm Ron."

"Victor Yonné," the postmistress sang out from behind the counter. "You've got so much mail, I hardly know where to put it all."

"Well, here I am to pick it up," he said, but he continued to stand just inside the door. "I'd been hoping to run into you sometime, Gumi. I have to thank you."

Gumi stared at him.

"You told me such wonderful things about this place I figured I had to come out and take a look for myself. You see, I'm already using the post office. I've got a gorgeous lot, southern exposure, nice view of the whole west end of the lake. You ought to come see it sometime. I think you'd like it. Wait till we get the walls up, though. That's when you'll really be able to get a sense of it."

There was a buzzing in Gumi's ears, the force of her own blood pumping in her head, she thought clinically. What could he be talking about? Suddenly, she realized it made no difference what he said, she only wanted to get away, to be away, never to have seen him, never to see him again. She took a small step forward and sideways, almost as if to suggest that she might push past him to escape.

Her behavior puzzled Victor. They hadn't parted on such bad terms, had they? And even if they had, didn't what had come before make up for that? They'd been so delighted with each other, he remembered that vividly. He remembered her quick, bright smile and with what shy pleasure she'd allowed him to tuck her hand under his arm. She couldn't have changed that much, could she? What was the matter with her that she couldn't treat him with friendliness in a public place? And then he remembered.

"Gumi," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder,"I'm very sorry about your sister."

She jerked her shoulder abruptly, throwing his hand off. Ducking her head, she brushed past him and almost ran out the door he still held open. She hurried down the steps with Ppoine in tow, so fast that the girl's feet missed almost every stair. They flew down the street, past the parked car in which sat a woman in a peacock green coat. They turned the corner and still raced on, did not slow, did not stop, until they reached the stables where she'd left the buggy.

"We forgot the cocoa," Ppoine said anxiously as Gumi plunked her onto the buggy seat. Gumi didn't answer.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>When he heard the screams coming from the house, Kaito was coming up the path that ran through the woods to the lake. He broke into his best limping run he could manage up the final hill. Despite the chilly air, he was slick with sweat, and his legs were shaking and his breathing ragged by the time he burst into the house.<p>

In the kitchen, Ppoine was wailing through chattering teeth as she struggled to climb out of her bath. Her little hands gripped the rim of the metal tub, and she pushed herself up on her toes, trying to lift her leg over the edge. It was a pitiful sight.

"Ppoine!" He cried and rushed over to her and grabbed a dishtowel to wrap her up in. He held her close, rocked her and whispered in her ear until she stopped crying. When she finally did, he shifter her to his hip and went to his sister-in-law, who all the time had been looking out the window, rocking slightly, holding one hand by the wrist with the other.

"Gumi, what's going on here?"

She turned around and smiled when she caught sight of Ppoine's ruby red irises. "You see? I told you. She isn't drowned."

She reached to take Ppoine from his arms, but he hesitated, held her back.

"Give her to me!" she demanded, and then repeated, her voice frantic and shrill,"Give her to me!"

And when he still wouldn't relinquish his hold on the child, she tore at his arm and pummeled the shoulder he turned toward her, howling,"Miki is mine! Miki is mine! Give Miki back! Miki is mine!"

"Stop it, damn it! Stop acting crazy!" he cried, shielding Ppoine away from her.

He pulled Ppoine away and ran up the stairs with her, slowing at the top when it was clear that Gumi wasn't following. When he came back down about an hour later, having dressed and soothed Ppoine to sleep, she was no longer in the kitchen.

He moved through the house, opening doors and quietly calling her name.

"Gumi," he whispered outside her room. When he didn't receive an answer, he hesitated and tentatively pushed the door further open and looked inside. The room was empty. Half guilty and half curious, he stepped in.

Gumi had taken for herself the room her parents had used when they were alive. It was large enough for three windows, two on the wall that overlooked the flower garden, now just a wide strip of black mud, which reminded him that he needed to cultivate that soon, and one that caught the afternoon light. All three windows were tall and so deep that the glass started below Kaito's knees. It was dizzying to stand too near them. He looked at the ground below, with a sudden, terrible thought, but no, the windows were closed.

The dresser top was prettied with a runner on which lay a silver grooming set the back of the hairbrush monogrammed with initials he knew had to be her mother's. Beside that an oval frame held a photograph of a solemn, straight-backed girl, her lap buried in a froth of christening lave from which peeked an infant's face.

Kaito wanted to slide one of the dressers open, but he didn't dare. She'd know if he'd touch anything; he was sure of it. He looked quickly over his shoulder toward the door, but the house was quiet.

At first, thinking she'd gone off to calm herself down, he didn't worry much and tried to go on with the afternoon. He cleaned the tub and mopped the water off the floor. He played with Ppoine when she woke up. He did the evening milking. It was hard, though, to keep his mind on these things when she still didn't come back. Where was she? Finally, at dusk, he asked Al to watch Ppoine and went to look for her.

He searched the barn, the chicken coop, and the root cellar hurriedly, holding his lantern high in the corners. He knocked on the door of the outhouse. He hoped but didn't truly expect to find her in any of these reasonable places, but he needed to feel he was looking thoroughly, systematically, and it made sense to start with the nearest, sanest possibilities. At last, with expectant dread, he started for the lake.

It was cold, cold enough to make Kaito wish he'd worn gloves, and he passed the lantern from hand to hand often as he walked, pressing the free one into his pocket. Halfway, he began to run as well as he could over the dark and knotted ground, groping his way down the same path he'd hurried up that afternoon.

Finally he broke from the trees, and the lake, which had only days before shed the last ragged scraps of the winder's ice, rippled wide and black before. And yes, unbelievable though it seemed, there Gumi was, almost as he'd imagined her as he rushed through the woods. She wasn't floating, though, but standing up to her shoulders in the water, her head a silhouette in the white spill of moonlight. He splashed in without stopping to lay down his lantern, so that when he reached her he had to fling it into the water to grab hold of her with both hands. He dragged her back towards the land, maintaining his own footing on the bottom with difficulty, especially since in the numbingly cold water he couldn't feel his feet and could barely sense his legs. How long had she been standing there? What had she meant to do?

"Gumi! Gumi what is wrong with you? What the hell were you thinking? Gumi! Gumi!" he repeated over and over idiotically, hoping to get a reaction out of her.

She gave no answer, but neither did she resist him. By the time they reached shallow water, he realized he'd been carrying her and would have to continue. She either couldn't or wouldn't support her own weight.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>"She's obviously hyperthermic," the doctor said. He came with Al after Kaito had sent him off to find one to tend to Gumi,"and I'm sure there's frost bite in the feet and fingers, but I think she'll be all right that way."<p>

He looked significantly at Kaito. "It's her mind that worries me."

"Yes," Kaito said, nodding energetically, relieved that the doctor had noticed. "There's something going on with her, isn't there? Is there anything I can do to help her?"

The doctor recommended St. Anzu's.

"A little rest," he assured Kaito,"will do her good."

* * *

><p>AN:

I'm so sorry for another late update of this, please forgive me! OTL

*sighs* I need to try and write more comedy, I've been doing too many dramas. . . I think I've only written one humorous story, but that was way back when. Well, I know I'm not aiming for that in here and a few others, but I'll manage.

If you any of you have any questions, don't hesitate to PM me and I may be able to explain it in the next chapter.

Thank you all for reading this ridiculously long story, review if you like. ^^


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:

Well, I think that I've had plenty of time to finish this, even though it is a grand length, once again. Which, I knew it would be, and is the reason why I warned you all since the first chapter that the chapters will be long and that there will be many! XD Hope none of you mind. :3

Well, here it is! Please, if I make any mistakes, throw a brick and make sure it hits, I'm trying to make less and less mistakes in my writing. Thank you!

Oh, and before I forget since I'm just like that, this was supposed to be a birthday gift to _The Queen of Double Standards_. But, as fate would have it, I'm a bumbling idiot who hurt herself and got herself locked away in a building that reeks of illness, death, and sanitation. But I'm out now!

However, I digress~ Go read her stories, they're really good. I mean it, especially if you're a reader who's into Yuri. /*bricked for shameless advertising again

~Mipiko

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>In April 1920, when Ppoine was four, her Aunt Gumi went away.<p>

"It doesn't surprise me one bit," they said.

On Sestowood Drive and Caross Avenue, in the dry goods store and at the butcher, in the bank, in the tavern turned tearoom and in the post office they all agreed that there had always been something a little funny about Gumi, even as a young girl.

"That time I brought that great big dish of potato salad over," Mrs. Melodia said to Mrs. Vista over coffee. "This was years ago, of course, when Yuuga was getting ready to have that darling Miki. Well, Gumi came to the door—she must have been only seven or eight, just a little bit of a thing, then. I was going to take my potato salad to the kitchen, look in on Yuuga, you know, but that girl took my dish right out of my hands. It was so heavy the bones in her spindly wrists were standing out, and 'Thank you very much,' she says and with one foot pushes the door closed right in my face. Isn't that the limit? I don't know that I ever did get my dish back. It was the nice square one. You know, with the lid. I think you've got one just like it."

"You remember the way she was when Yuuga and Ryo got sick the other year," Tomine Maaya said. "Throwing her own sister out with that tiny baby. And then running off like that when the old folks died."

Yes, Gumi had always been funny. This didn't surprise them one bit.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>If only I could have kept her small and close, but no, she wouldn't stay in the dark, secret place. She forced her way out, for all the world to see, and then look what happened.<p>

It is you and then it isn't you— that's the trouble with a baby. And it keeps on and it keeps on, growing and growing, monstrous. There's nothing you can do. You are no match for it. But that comes later.

I was so happy those months with Mama on the davenport, all mine, waiting for Miki to come. Tucked under her arm, I listened to her read and waited for the tap tap tap of Blind Mew and the light fairy laughter of Neko and Nano. She could do all the voices. We dressed up my doll SeeU for the ball in a fold of Mama's shawl. Mama knew all the most interesting places a doll could go and what she would say when she got there.

Sometimes we studied the photograph of my brother Gumo, who'd died of diphtheria just after I was born and would never be more than three years old. The picture was taken before he was buried and Mama had hired an artist to paint open eyes over his closed ones, but they didn't look the same as his real ones, she told me.

Other times she played the piano and we sang as loud as we could, so that Big Al and Papa could hear us down in the meadow. Every day then, when I left for school, Mama was on the davenport in the front room. I knelt beside her so she could fix my unruly hair in its tight braids when it was still long. When I came home again, she was there still, just as I knew she'd be. Her arms would be open and she would be waiting for me to bend close, to brush her hair, to draw a tiny heart with ink on her arm, to bet with her which marble I would hit. She would be waiting for me to draw the paper clothes that she would then cut out for my paper dolls, waiting for me to get us milk and brown sugar sandwiches form the kitchen. Every bit of her was there, waiting for me.

They tried to come in, those women with their rhubarb and their kuchens and their potato salads. They wanted her, too. But I wouldn't let them.

She was mine, all mine.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Did you hear that Gumi Hiirone's in the bin?" Sayu Yurika asked, the next time Victor Yonné stopped in.<p>

"The bin?"

"You know, St. Anzu's Sanatorium. You seemed to be acquainted, so I thought you'd want to know." She looked at him expectantly, ready for questions, but he disappointed her.

"That's too bad," was all he said as he took his pile of envelopes from her hands.

The news troubled him. He wished the postmistress had kept it to herself. Although, why should he care after all? He had nothing to do with Gumi now. He stood near his car, slitting the envelopes open with a pocket knife—an inferior one, since he'd lost the good one with the silver monogrammed case.

Had the craziness been there, underneath the neat nurse's uniform, all along? She'd seemed so transparent, with her heart on her sleeve, with her quick blush and easy laugh.

She'd been amazed by the simplest things: a glass of champagne, a bunch of violets. And all the while she'd been hiding craziness. She had shown herself to him as one thing, and now she turned out to be another.

He cranked the car and got in, slamming the door hard behind him. Well, he wasn't going to feel sorry for her this way. He sat there for a moment, listening to the soothing rumble of the engine. After all, it must have been hard for her. All those deaths she had to endure. First, her parents and then her sister.

Anyone might crack.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Gumi<strong>_

* * *

><p>I see I haven't said enough.<p>

I thought I might omit this part, let it settle silently into the muck where it belongs, but it seems that isn't possible. People want to hear everything, don't they? Spy every strap and pin and hem. It's not enough for them to run a finger along the scar or even see the knife slice the skin. They must hear the blade purring against the whetstone. All right then, if that's the way it has to be. So be it.

We met because Private Remu Sonone was delirious. Poor Private Sonone—he'd not even got over there yet, had only reached Camp Vocatone when the Army discovered a limp and shipped him home. But a fever had stopped him before he'd gone a hundred miles.

So here he was at the hospital, delirious, thrashing his arms and kicking his legs, whipping his head back and forth against the pillow and saying terrible things. I was having an awful time with him. I'd get a compress on his forehead and he'd tear it off. I'd get his arms settled, and his legs would start up.

Obviously, I was busy, so I didn't see the man until he was standing on the other side of Private Sonone's bed, holding the patient's feet while I struggled with his head. The man's skin had a red cast to it, almost as if though he had more blood than his body could hold and his hands around Private Sonone's ankles were very large and steady.

He smiled at me reassuringly and somehow, working his way slowly up from the feet, moving his hands in little circles and talking softly, he managed to soothe Private Sonone, almost to hypnotize him.

"There we go," he said when the private lay barely twitching beneath the sheet, the compress firmly on his forehead, his breathing calm and his heart rate steady.

"Are you a new doctor?" I asked.

"A doctor? Oh, no." He laughed. Just then Dr. Utatane came into the ward.

Seeing the director made me nervous. We'd never explicitly been told not to let strangers handle patients, but I was pretty sure the hospital wouldn't encourage it.

Dr. Utatane was smiling, however. "What brings you here today, Yonné?" he asked and they shook hands and went off together.

Later that afternoon, while I was drinking my coffee and eating an anise cookie in the cafeteria, the man appeared again.

"This," he announced, setting a brown box on my table, "will revolutionize medicine." He pulled out a chair and swung it around so that he could sit on it backwards, resting his elbows on the cane back.

"What is it?" Clearly, I was supposed to ask.

"It's a vacuum box. You put your instruments in here, your scalpels and scissors and needles and whatever else you have." He picked and dropped my spoon into the box. "Then seal it up like this." He worked a lever that looked like a latch on a pickle jar. "And then activate the vacuum for thirty seconds." He flipped a switch and a tiny red light on the top lit up. "That's how you know it's on. And then, when you take your instruments out again, they're perfectly sterilized."

"Wouldn't a good scrub or some alcohol work just as well?" I questioned as I took my spoon back and wiped it with my napkin.

"You have to understand the science. You see, when the air molecules are removed, the germs just can't stick to the metal. The effect lasts much longer than if they'd been wiped off with alcohol—we've proven it—and there's no danger of re-contamination with a dirty cloth." He was so certain, so enthusiastic, he seemed almost like a child.

"So are we going to start using those here?"

"Oh, you know, they have to do all sorts of tests, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time." He stroked the top of the box fondly.

"I'm afraid I didn't get your name this morning," I said finally. "Is it Yonné?"

"Yonné's my surname. Victor is my given name."

I gave out my own name then and held out my hand, which he shook rather too vigorously.

He offered to get me a second cup of coffee, but while he was at the counter, I realized my break had ended five minutes before. No time to make apologies, I told myself. As I hurried out the door, I saw him arranging a whole plateful of cookies, ladies' fingers and lemon icebox and more anise. It seemed like we would probably never meet again.

We met because of Private Sonone and then I killed my parents. Had I mentioned that? No, I thought I hadn't. Of course, I didn't mean to kill them, but in a case of death, how much does intent really matter?

I killed them because I felt a little fatigued and suffered from a slight, persistent cough. Thinking I was overworked and hadn't been getting enough sleep, I went home for a short visit, just a few days to relax in the country while the sweet corn and the raspberries were ripe. From the city I brought fancy ribbon, two boxes of chocolate, and a deadly gift from Private Sonone. I gave the influenza to my mother, who gave it to my father, or maybe it was the other way around.

When I saw the fever on my mother's cheeks, I made Miki take Ppoine to the island, although for all I knew it was already too late.

"But it's so lonely there," she said.

"Better lonely than dead," I bluntly told her. It was important to be efficient. "And before you go on, think of Ppoine."

I was a good nurse, as I've said, and I brought all of my training to bear. I followed the doctor's orders to the letter, even though I needed no instructions; I knew the course. I forced spoonfuls of honeyed tea and chicken broth between their lips to give them strength. I dosed them with quinine at eight, at twelve, at four, at eight again, day and night. I opened the windows in their room for fresh air. I tucked the quilts tightly around them to make them sweat. I changed the linens twice a day, more often when the blood from their noses began to stain the pillow slips.

"Miki?" My mother said as I bathed her face with a warm cloth.

I assured her she would see Miki later, when she was better.

"Where's Miki?" My father demanded, throwing the blankets to the floor.

I tried to explain about contagion, about how she was safe with Ppoine, about how they would see her once they recovered. But they were delirious with fever. They refused to understand.

"Miki," they called. "Miki!"

Finally, when their skins had turned pale blue for lack of air, I pretended.

"Yes, mama. Yes, papa," I said. "I'm right here."

My mother smiled then. My father sighed and relaxed. They were comforted.

I wonder now if, in some way, I thought I could be Miki after that. I wonder if I thought I could act like her at least, with her charm and daring. If so, I should have known better. Of course. I didn't think about any of that then. I only thought to ease their suffering, to help them heal, to be a good nurse.

I did everything right. Everything. But it meant nothing. They got away from me. Their lungs full of fluid, they drowned in their bed, first my mother, then my father. I was helpless to hold them back.

Miki and I buried our parents on an Indian summer day in Saranada's graveyard, under the lurid, mocking sugar maples. Neighbors and friends had been with us all morning, but now, on the way home, their buggies turned off one by one onto other roads, until there was no one else, either before or behind, and we were alone. At the gate, I jumped down and fumbled with the latch.

"Here, like this," Miki said, coming up beside me. Her eyes were so red and swollen that she could barely see but the gate opened easily under her nimble fingers. In all those months I'd been away, the house and the farm had become hers.

I knew exactly what was in the kitchen, since I'd taken each dish at the door. There was white bread, brown bread and pumpernickel. There was hot potato salad, cold potato salad, scalloped potatoes and sweet potatoes. There was venison, corned beef, a ham, a turkey, two chickens and a duck. There was tongue, pork sausage, white sausage, blood sausage and braunschweiger. There were hard rolls and sweet rolls, cherry preserves (obviously meant for a certain sister), cauliflower in cream, leeks in cream, creamed corn, sugared carrots (*ahem*), sauerkraut, pickled beets, apple pie, pumpkin pie, and tapioca pudding. The door of the ice box would hardly close and bowls and plates hung precariously over the edges of the kitchen table and covered the counter and the seat of every chair. A dozen pears, a rhubarb pie and a jar of tomatoes had found their way into the front room and three cheeses and a tin of molasses cookies congregated on my mother's daybed in the back.

"Can I make anyone a sandwich?" I asked one day.

"Oh, throw it all away!" Miki cried. "How can you stand to look at it?" she mourned.

She ran upstairs, sobbing, and Big Al, Ppoine and I stood not looking at each other.

"I bet Ppoine's hungry, aren't you honey?"

But Miki's behavior had upset the little girl. She burst into tears and followed her mother.

"Eat something, Al." I said. "No point in letting it all go to waste."

My father disapproved of wasting food. He sucked marrow from bones. He ate skin and tendons and gristle, and he expected us to do the same. We were not allowed to "spoil our supper" by eating between meals but once, when I was seven, I was so hungry I opened the ice box. Just looking at some food, I thought, might ease my stomach. In the back corner, behind the meat and the butter, there was a little cup of something thick, rich and white. A week or two ago, my mother had made a vanilla custard that was so sweet and creamy I had licked my spoon until all I could taste was the silver. Could this portion have been forgotten? And if it had been forgotten, who would notice if I took just one little bite?

I reached deep into the cool interior, slid my finger gently along the smooth surface and carried a tiny ridge of the whiteness back to my mouth. But as soon as my tongue touched my finger I knew it wasn't custard. It was something terrible—slimy and disgusting.

I wiped my tongue on my sleeve and turned to go out to the pump to wash my hands. My father was standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing in the icebox?"

It was impossible to lie to my father. "I thought it was some custard, but it's gone bad or something."

"Your mother wouldn't keep bad food in the icebox," he said, reaching around me to pull the cup of white stuff out.

I had nothing to say to this. It was true that she was very careful, but it was also true that custard tasted awful.

"What have I told you about eating between meals?"

"It's wrong."

"How do you know your mother isn't planning to use this custard?" He frowned at the gully my finger had made.

"She forgot about it."

He looked at me sharply. He hated lying. Maybe she hadn't forgotten it. How did I know?

"You thought you'd just take it, is that right? Steal it and spoil your supper. Stick your finger in it so it's no good to anyone else."

It was difficult to tell which of these he thought the worse offense. He was shaking the cup under my nose now. I turned my face away.

"No, I. . ." But what he said was true. I tried a different tack. "I was hungry."

He sighed. "You have to learn to control yourself, Gumi. Do you see me stealing food out of the icebox, spoiling my appetite so I can't eat my good supper?"

"No, Papa."

He slammed the cup down at my place at the table. Then he crossed to the drawer and took out a spoon and banged that down beside the cup.

"You want this? You eat it. Now." He ordered in a stern voice.

Even if it had tasted good, I wouldn't have wanted it any longer. The idea of doing so blatantly what he had forbidden repelled me. My stomach tightened, my throat constricted, and I began to feel sick.

"I-I can't."

"You should have thought of that before you stuck your grubby finger in it, shouldn't you? Now eat it." He took my shoulders and pushed me down into my chair.

Slowly, I pushed the spoon into the white mass. It felt almost like ice cream, only not so cold and much more slippery. I lifted the spoon, tried not to breathe through my nose and stuck the stuff in my mouth. I swallowed as quickly as I could, but it stuck on my tongue. I'm sure that even Kaito wouldn't dare and eat this if he was in my position. I forced it down in large spoonfuls, trying not to taste it, not to feel it in my mouth, not to think about what I was doing. My father watched, his arms crossed, waiting.

The tip of my spoon scraped the bottom of the cup when my mother walked in.

"Gumi! What are you doing? Ryo, what is she doing?"

Before he could answer, she snatched the custard away from me and stared at us.

"She started that custard, she's got to finish it," he said.

"Custard!" she thrust the cup in front of him. "This isn't custard, Ryo! This is lard!" Now she banged the cup onto the table. "Oh my stars—Gumi, didn't it taste awful? Why in the world did you want to eat it?"

"I didn't. I. . ." But I couldn't explain. I didn't want to put my father in the wrong. And really, he hadn't been wrong. I had disobeyed. I'd been stealing food out of the icebox. If it had really been custard, I probably would have eaten it. Probably I would have spoiled my supper, whatever that had meant. My father was sniffing what remained in they cup now, frowning, as if he still didn't quite believe us.

Suddenly, my stomach gave a horrible turn. I ran out the kitchen door and into the woods behind the house. I was still retching under a honeysuckle bush when my father came up behind me. He handed me his handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, Gumi. I should have listened to you," he said. He tucked the damp strings of my hair behind my ears.

It made me want to squirm, him saying that. I tried to push the words away. "I shouldn't have been in the icebox," I said.

"Well, you won't do it again, will you?"

"Never ever!"

"That's my good girl."

I would have eaten that lard a hundred times over to hear those words.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>I stepped into the hall now, took my father's jacket from its hook and slipped my arms into its sleeves. The cuffs dangled far below my hands. The jacket smelled of pipe tobacco and hay, molasses and grease, as all of his barn jackets had, ever since I could remember.<p>

I stuck my hands in the pockets. There were shreds of loose tobacco, two washers, a pencil stub, a list for the lumberyard—"eight 2x4s, four 4x6s, ten 2x8s," each number formed precisely, just the way he entered them in his ledger. He made his eights by drawing two balls, one on top of the other.

"Like a snowman," he had said to me as I sat on his lap, the pencil he'd just sharpened in my hand. I suppose he taught me to write, although I'd never given that a thought, believing it no more than my due as his child. I remembered his huge fingers wrapped around my tiny ones as he guided my hand—a hand I wouldn't even recognize as my own now—over the page, until we'd made all the numbers up to ten.

"Look at how she's going to town, Mother," he had said.

Later, when he discovered I had his knack for figures, he showed me off every chance he got.

"Gumi'll tote up the bill," he would say. "Watch this."

He'd hand me a slip with a column of numbers and in a second or two I'd announce the total. What I liked best, though, were the early mornings when we quizzed each other while we milked, just us and the cows in that big warm barn.

I took the jacket off, folded it, and set it near the front door. Maybe Al could use it, or one of the Utane's. I went upstairs to my parent's bedroom.

Miki refused to answer me when I knocked on her door. I could hear her singing "Lavender's Blue" to Ppoine, her voice unconvincing, quavery, broken by sobs, while I sorted through the drawers, separating things to give away from things we ought to keep.

My mother's dresses smelled of lavender water. She kept them perfectly, the sleeves and bodices stuffed with paper to hold their shapes, old shawls draped over their shoulders to keep the dust off. It looked as if there were six copies of my mother in the wardrobe, each without a head. I was far too tall to wear those dresses, but perhaps Miki would want one or two. I carried them to the attic and closed them in a trunk.

That night I woke up sweating, my heart racing.

_Good_, I thought. I hoped I, too, would be ill. I hoped I would die. How could I have brought such disaster on them and yet suffer hardly a cough myself? I writhed in my bed, desperate for the fever and delirium, the heavy limbs and cloudy head that would overwhelm the sharp, clear picture of what had happened, the irrevocable fact that they were no more, not one, not the other, both gone forever from the earth. But it was only fear that made my heart beat faster. There was no escape for me. I could not even cry.

"I can't stay any longer," I told Miki the next morning. "I have obligations."

I was ready. I had repacked my little bag even before the funeral. No sense in waiting until the last minute, my mother always said.

"You'll be fine," I told Miki. "Al will help you."

Big Al drove me to the station and I didn't look back, not once, although I could feel Miki staring after me with those red, swollen eyes, all the way to Seranada.

Back in our tawny-colored room, Lily was kind. She brought me coffee while I unpacked. Normally, Lily was usually a misfortune to be with, but she could somehow tell that something was wrong with me.

"I did the best I could for them," I told her, and tried to tell myself. "Now I have to get back to work. My sister doesn't understand how busy we are here."

Under the tissue of the top drawer of my dresser, I spilled my father's list of lumber and my mother's hairbrush in which a few strands of her hair were tangled. Again, I woke at night in a panic. I was going to have to start my life all over again from scratch, I thought. There was nothing behind me now, nothing to stand on. And then I thought of Miki and I clung to her image to right myself back to the surface.

In the daylight, it was better. I worked a day shift and, at the hospital, wounded men clamored for my attention. I had to remember dosages and schedules. I had to bandage and massage and produce soothing words. As if those things mattered! As if they would make any difference! I knew better now, but I did what I was supposed to do all the same. Were there others like me, who knew that all of our efforts were only a way to pass the time, to distract and comfort ourselves? I studied the faces of the doctors and nurses, even of the orderlies. Was I the only one who understood?

"I don't care if you don't like it," my mother used to say when I complained about church or school. "You can act right." And that was true, too. I could act right and I did.

And so, although I was no longer so confident, no longer so sure of my every move as I had once been, I kept busy. I volunteered to take the worst patients, the most contagious, the most pitiable injuries, the men who threw their bedpans across the room in a fury. None of it bothered me.

I had been back only a few days and was running up the stairs from the dispensary when somewhere between the second and third floors I heard a familiar voice.

"Damn," he was saying. "Damn, damn, damn. . ."

"What's the matter?"

I hurried to turn the next landing. There I saw what the trouble was—papers everywhere, in ragged heaps and shingling the steps nearly to the the top of the flight where Victor stood.

"Oh dear," I said, or something sympathetic like that, but I couldn't help smiling a little as I bent to gather the pages that lay near me.

Victor stood still, looking down at me glumly. "One of the nurses asked me to take these to the basement on my way out."

"I don't think she meant for you to throw them down there."

"You don't say?" He laughed. "And it seemed like such a good idea at the time!"

He came several steps closer to me and began to collect the pages from the stairs. "This is going to take me hours to sort out! Do you see a folder for Shion? Hatsune? Kumono?" He held up the papers and dropped them again, one by one, to the floor.

"Well, you're not going to do it that way, are you?" I said. "Here. This won't be so bad."

I cleared a few steps and began to sort through the loose pages alphabetically, making neat piles. "Join in any time."

If not for me, I'm sure he would have buried Fuki Kusane's ulcerated stomach in Colt Kaine's chart, and Kaine's gassed lungs in Yoru Ikusane's chart.

"Nobody's going to look at these again, anyway," he said.

But I wouldn't permit such a thing. "Accurate record-keeping is essential," I told him,"even when the files are going to the basement. You'd be surprised how often doctors need to revisit the course of an illness."

I hadn't meant to be funny, but he laughed and very soon we were talking and laughing more than filing. The things we said were vacuous and nonsensical to bear repeating, even if I could remember them, but we put a great deal of effort into amusing each other. Certainly it was the most pleasant half hour I'd ever spent sorting papers.

When we'd finished, I helped him carry the folders down to the records room, and there we spent another ten minutes, talking steadily, but not saying very much. That is, until he asked,"Would you like to have dinner with me on Thursday?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Lily lent me her rabbit-fur stole. I wasn't ready at seven, what with the number of times we had rearrange my unmanageable hair, but luckily he was late and we were watching out the window by the time he came down the street. Lily assured me that the two-seater he was driving was a very good kind of car to have.<p>

We drove all the way up to Kazeno to eat at a supper club.

"This place has the best steak," he said. "You have to try it." He told the waiters how long a steak should be cooked and how much ice to put in a glass.

"I guess I'll have a cup of coffee," I mused.

"Coffee! You don't want to ruin a meal like this with coffee! The lady'll have champagne."

"Victor, I couldn't!"

"Why not? You don't like it?"

"I've never had it."

"Well, you've got to try champagne." And the waiter had already gone, so what could I do?

He was right. Now I knew why people liked to drink. My champagne was fizzy and almost sweet. Nothing like the whiskey my father used to swallow on cold winter nights.

After supper we went dancing.

The band played a ballad and he waltz me smoothly around on the floor. His eyes were on me the whole time, as if though we were the only people in the room. My face got hot with that thought and I had to look on the floor. I would sometimes recall the scent of starch on his shirt collar and the warm press of his hand against my back.

It turned out that we always drove far away when we went out. We went to Kallah and Noreh Creek and Pakine and several times to Rhoe. It was romantic, thrilling, to drive so fast along those long dark roads, to find out what lay behind those doors he ushered me through, his hand hovering a whisper from my waist, to dance in those dark places to colored music, to eat steaks and snails. I would get so tired that I would fall asleep on the way home.

Some evenings I said,"Why don't we just be cozy tonight, get a hamburger someplace close?"

And he'd say,"You want a hamburger? I know the best hamburger place in the country." And we'd wind up all the way in Fort Mason or Kneboyeng or Rei du Lea.

It was just like Nero, except better, since this time no one was saying "Hadn't you better think about this?" or "You're young, what's your hurry?" When my mother said those things, what she meant was, it's all very well to be friends with Catholics, but you don't want to marry them. And what Nero's mother meant when she said,"Of course, she's a sweet girl, but sweet isn't everything," was what Lutherans make excellent neighbors but aren't fit to be , as far as I could tell, had no religion and that suited me just fine. When I thought of God, now, He was hovering somewhere over France, not paying any attention to me at all.

Generally, I wouldn't let a man put a hand on me if we weren't dancing, unless maybe he wanted a good-night kiss, but the first time Victor touched me, we were parked somewhere along the edge of Lake Sinnata, water so cast, you couldn't see to the other side. That night he only ran her fingertips over my face—my eyelids, my cheeks, the outline of my lips—carefully, gently, yet firmly, as if he were painting my features on my face. Nobody ever did anything like that to me before. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond, so I waited to see what would happen next.

Nothing else did happen, for weeks it seemed, until I was used to his fingers on my skin and, for all my shyness, I couldn't help tilting my chin up, ready for more, and then he put his fingertips just along my collarbone, just inside the edge of my dress, and then he kissed me, as light and melting and unsatisfying as spun sugar.

When he told me he loved me, I laughed. Not in a mean way, but lightly, warning myself really, more than him, not to take it too seriously. You have to be careful with your feelings, I think. It's a mistake to let them go because they're summoned. But, like Miki, Victor was very good at getting his way.

It wasn't too long before I gave in and let myself believe him, let myself love him back. It seemed like a sure thing. It felt just like it was supposed to. I began to think about what would happen sooner or later; I imagined the house with the spreading elm in the front yard, the sunny kitchen and the clean, white linens, the children, four or five at least, with his rosy cheeks and my jade green eyes. Of course, I would miss my work, but I was secretly a little pleased to see my proper course lay elsewhere.

I told him about the farm and the lake. I told him how fresh and cool it all was in the summer, how clear and sparkling in the winter. I might have given the impression that ever day there was a picnic, because I wanted to please him. And I suppose I wanted to please myself. It was a relief to pretend that everything was just as it should be, picture perfect, waiting for me to come home. I dreamed of the summer afternoon when we would row out to my island together. I imagined him leaping from the water like a pike and how I would splash him and he would splash me, and then how he would wrap his arms around me and pull me under the waves with him.

But I should have known better, for there were clues, if I'd cared to see them. One night we planned to go to Rhoe, which usually meant dancing. I waited on the glider on the front porch, my hands in a sealskin muff.

"Where're you off to, all dolled up?" Clara asked, passing me on her way out. She had a boyfriend who lived on the next block and he was always asking her to meet him somewhere or other instead of picking her up like a proper date.

"Oh, wherever he takes me, I guess."

Whenever you told Clara where you were going, she claimed to have been somewhere better the week before.

"Well, have a good time." She waved her hand behind her head as she hurried down the stairs.

Two men went in to pick up their dates and then five girls came out together, laughing, their breath making little clouds. My new cloth dancing slippers were pretty, but hardly appropriate for waiting outdoors in late October. I [aced the porch a few times and then walked a few yards down the street in the direction from which Victor always came.

I told myself that if I went inside for a few moments, maybe ran upstairs to change my hankie, he would have come.

Lily was lying on her bed, reading a book. "Call his office," she said. "He's probably making a deal." she turned the page and didn't look at me. She said "doing a deal" disparagingly. She didn't like Victor's approach to business, the way he threw himself behind every new idea. She thought he ought to stick to one thing, tried and true. She also didn't approve of champagne.

We found the number he'd given me, and I went downstairs to use the telephone. I let it ring twenty times. Then I called again and let it ring another twenty times. He's probably just down the hall, I houth. What if he answered just as I hung up? I called again and let it ring for thirty times.

Lily shut her book. "Get something to eat with me?" she asked.

But I couldn't and I had to decline. How awful would it be when he showed up and I wasn't there.

Lily's hard blue eyes softened. "Oh you poor thing. . ." She said when she got back from her supper and found me still sitting by the window in our room. "You must be starving."

"No, I had a sandwich." I liked. I took off my new shoes and put them away in the closet.

"Well, I'm going to bed," she said. "There's no sense sitting up like this."

Before she turned out the light, Lily said kindly,"You probably got the date wrong. . ."

But we both knew I hadn't. When I heard her breathing deeply, I couldn't help myself. I got out of bed and went back to my chair by the window and that's where I finally fell asleep.

All that worry wasted. The next afternoon, Clara knocked on the door to our room.

"Visitor for you downstairs." she said with wink. "Looks to me like someone's sorry."

My cheeks went hot and I stepped in front of the mirror for a moment.

"You look fine," Lily said without glancing up from her book.

He was standing there in the parlor, holding a large bunch of lavender tulips in front of his face. Those were expensive flowers in October.

"I'm sorry, Gumi," he said, peeking around them, pretending to be afraid of how I might look or what I might say.

"It's only that I thought you might have been hurt," I said, taking the flowers from him,"or worse." Although those were not, in truth, the possibilities that I had feared.

"It was an emergency," he said. "I'm an investor in a lead mine in Springs Green, you know and I had to go out there to look things over. The country needs lead now. I was doing my patriotic duty."

"But couldn't you have called?"

"And waked the whole house? You wouldn't want that."

"Next time," I said,"I'll sit right by the phone and pick it up, first ring. Then I won't worry you've been in an accident."

"No," he said,"I don't like the idea of your having to wait up. It isn't healthy. And you know, sometimes these meetings go so late, you can't imagine. And there isn't a phone, Gumi. That's the way business is. I've got to go where the opportunity is. You understand that, don't you? You'll forgive me, won't you? That's a good girl."

With a war on, you see, people had to do things they wouldn't otherwise. That's what I told Lily.

"Why isn't he in France, then?" she asked. "If he's so crazy about patriotic duty?"

I knew the answer to that. One of those nights as we drove and drove, he told me how he'd tried to join more than a year back that very first summer. Although he was nearly forty, he'd stood a line with the young fellows who could imagine nothing better to do with their youth, and the doctor had turned him away.

"I guess my heart's not what it should be," he said. "That's what they said to me because I had rheumatic fever once."

He looked away from me, out over the dark fields, as he told me this, as though it were a difficult thing to admit. It made me love him more to think that, while he knew so much and could do so much, he was fragile on the inside.

The war ended, but Victor was still busy. The next time he stood me up, he'd been doing a real estate deal in Fort Mason.

"You've got to stay and have a drink, or they'll think you've cheated them," he said and he lay a dozen apricot-colored roses in my arms. What he said seemed likely enough. What did I know about business?

"Roses should be red," Lily said, but what did she know about roses?

"Anyone can find a red rose," I said, arranging them as well as I could in my tooth cup. "These are special. They bring them by train all the way from Kentana Matten." I had to prop them against the wall to keep the cup from tipping over, but they made the tan of our room seem a rich, warm gold and they lasted almost a week.

The time after that I left the porch when an hour had passed and had a bowl of soup in the drugstore and then took myself to a movie. It was difficult, always having to explain to Lily. What was a night waiting here or there? It wasn't as if I had anything better to do. And he did. He had important things to do, and if, now and again, he couldn't leave them just to have a good time with me. He loved me so much, you see. That's what he said, and it made me so happy to believe that it was true.

And then the Army decided it wanted to see the vacuum box. He ran from his car up the walk that evening and bounded up the stairs. "I'm in, Gumi! I'm in!"

He wrapped me in his arms and swung me around. The cloud of breath that issued from his mouth smelled faintly of gin.

I tipped my head back and laughed. He was so excited, he'd forgotten to give me the pink carnations he held. I tugged at them playfully, and he laughed too and released them.

"In where?" I asked it so casually, expecting to hear about another partnership I wouldn't understand, another investment with the "smartest fellows" he'd ever met, an invention that did something I didn't know needed doing. I buried my face in the flowers, such a sweet scent.

"In the Army!" he said. "They're going to use me, send me to Lenos, maybe to France! Say, I bet you cant guess why."

"But the war's over," I said. I sat down again on the glider and he sat beside me.

"I know it's a bit funny, isn't it? The war's over and now the Army wants me. But you haven't guessed why,"he said and he put his arms around me and began to nuzzle my ear.

"Victor!" I pushed him away, embarrassed.

"Well, aren't you going to guess?" He looked hurt.

I tried to make it up to him, tried to come up with some reasonable or at least amusing answer, but my head was buzzing. My fingers picked absently at the string around the flower stems. I couldn't think.

"I can't guess," I said finally. "Tell me."

"They want the vacuum box! Isn't that amazing? They want to test it in Lenos and then, if they like it, I'll help 'em. We'll take it everywhere, all over the country and to Europe, too! I can't believe it." He was pacing back and forth on the porch now, his shoes squeaking against the patches of hard-packed snow.

"Here, let me help you with that." He said, producing a silver pocketknife and opening the blade. But he could not hold it still long enough to cut the string. He gave the knife to me and began to pace again.

"But I can believe it," he said, hammering the words down with conviction. "I _can_ believe it. Because I know that this is a great thing, an important thing." He turned to me again, put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me.

"When?"

"When what?"

"When do you have to go?"

"In a week. There's hardly time to get everything together." He stopped, then, and seemed to finally sense my mood. "So tonight," he started,"you'll celebrate with me, won't you?"

He took my hand and pulled me gently to my feet and drew me against his coat. He pressed his mouth over my ear. "It may be our last night for a long time."

A light layer of snow made the tires hiss against the road as we drove and drove that night. When he tucked his arm around my waist, I couldn't remember why I'd never before slid tight against him. All along I should have been holding on to him as tightly as if there were no tomorrow.

We stopped at a roadhouse in Maccosin, where I tried my first martini, and a tavern in Menosa, where I drank my second and another at Opriana, where I drank, but hardly tasted, my third.

As he steered me toward the door of a plush Rhoe hotel, a tall woman with almond eyes and long, graceful neck, smiled dreamily at me in the glass. "Look," I said, pointing to her,"so beautiful."

In the room, while he rang for champagne, I thought the strangest thing. This will show them, I thought. This is what happens when they leave me all alone. It almost made me cry, thinking that. But then he hung up the phone and drew me to the window to look at all the lights and I forgot that I was alone. Forgot entirely.

When it was over, I was frightened, sorry. I couldn't look at him, knowing what we'd done. I couldn't look at myself. I kept my eyes on the whorls of a cabbage rose patterned in the carpet.

"We shouldn't have," I told the cabbage rose. I kept saying it over and over, sitting there on the side of the bed, bent over a pillow clutched tightly over my lap. "We shouldn't have."

But he draped the sheet gently over my shoulder. He was so dear. He took all of the blame on himself. He loved me so, he said. He couldn't help himself, he said, couldn't I understand that? He begged me to forgive him, and of course I did. I understood.

"It's alright," I said at last in a wispy voice. "Of course it's all right. We'll get married now. Tomorrow morning. Or tonight, maybe even tonight, there might be someone. . ."

"You know it's impossible," he said, shaking his head sadly as he stroked my hair.

"Well, tomorrow then. Tomorrow will certainly be all right."

"I thought you understood," Victor said. "I thought you knew. I'm married already."

* * *

><p>AN:

I think I'm getting WAY into making my characters have a bit of a. . . warped mind, I guess I should say? I don't know why, but I've been curious as to how it would feel to write about a character with thoughts that differ from the norm. Well, review if you want to let me know what you all thought of it! :D

Pffft, how lame, I tried to make it up to you QoDS by making it so long. |D

I hope this does make up for the lost time! X'D


	5. Chapter 5

A/N:

YES! ! Finally updated early! 8D

Oh, and of course, there is going to changes in POVs. Not a single chapter will go by without at least one change. Just a heads up since one of you raised up a good point about it. You'll see a bit more about Victor, but not much. Even though I'm sure I've made a few of you *ahem* _dislike_ him, he's actually one of my favorite UTAUloids. But he still doesn't compare to Ron, but that's besides the point. ^^"

I also gave Ron siblings in here (he's the youngest since he's six in here). His older sister is Waiko (even thought she's about 14, I thought that she would make a good sister) and his older brother is Natsuki Kanine. Please don't kill me, keyl! ! *runs off and hides*

Here's a link to his Japanese:

h t t p : / / y o u t u . b e / - 6 j E 5 w G p 3 b U

And this is for his English:

h t t p : / / y o u t u . b e/ h Q G K X c j q _ Q 8

Is it just me, or does he sound a bit like Big Al? Yes? No? Maybe? You need to get your ears checked? *shot*

Oh, and for imagery reasons, *Lake Boka is as big as Lake Michigan and Prestent is the equivalent of Yale University. You'll know what I mean and aren't I creative with names? *shotshotshot*

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>Victor and Mako Yonné lived with their three children in a brick house on Cienna Avenue with high ceilings and pink globes around the new electric lights and a door knocker shaped like an angel.<p>

Very early Sunday morning, Victor felt the smooth skin of Gumi's milky thigh press against his own. He awoke suddenly and threw the blanket back.

"What is it?" Mako mumbled.

"Must be those stuffed peppers you made me eat last night. I told you peppers don't sit well with me."

Victor took himself downstairs to recover. Dawn found him in the kitchen, sipping coffee and starting out at the ripening day. A light was on in the big house next door and occasionally Victor's glance would be drawn across the strip of side lawn through the hedge that separated his house from his neighbors'. He watched the neighbors' cook bend over to pull something from the oven and felt suddenly hungry.

Gumi had been a mistake in the end, he thought, lighting the oven. Of course, none of them were ever pleased when he broke it off. One had laughed unpleasantly, he remembered that. A couple had railed, but most cried. He was good with tears. He wasn't hardhearted. He felt bad for them. But they all knew as well as he did that the fun had to end sometime. Sometimes he wasn't even the one to call it off. He didn't like it when that happened, but he never made a fuss—a lady had to consider her own situation. But poor Gumi. Thinking that he would marry her! Where had she got that idea? Hadn't he been perfectly clear all along? Well, if not perfectly clear, clear enough for any reasonable person to see what was what. He sighed, feeling vaguely that she had wronged him with her expectations, and slid two thick slices of bread into the oven to toast.

He'd been hoping to see her again, obviously. How else explain what he'd done, convincing Mako that this particular lake near this particular town was the only possible place to build a summer house? Why a summer house at all, for that matter? He swallowed some coffee and winced at the bitterness.

_Of course, it hadn't been like that exactly_, he reminded himself, spooning sugar into his cup. He wasn't such a fool as that. He had simply gone to Serenada one day out of idle curiosity, or so he told himself, thinking he would take a look at the place she'd told him so much about. Nothing wrong with looking, was there? And then, well, anyone with imagination could see the possibilities. Advertising copy had run through his head—the pretty lakes strung together like sapphires, or nestled like robin's eggs among the green hills. In a nearby town there was even a spa.

Victor checked his toast, toffee-colored on one side, perfect. He turned the slices over and shut the oven door, careful not to make noise. The Manakas had bought a place out there and so had the Hiragiis and the Isamunes. Brewers and bankers and lumber barons were buying and building all over the area. Once he'd shown Mako the fieldstone mansion the Manakas had built on Lake Omashu, she was willing to let him have the money for several choice plots, long stretches of lakefront property that up until now had been wasted on cows. Reselling this land to people who liked the idea of owning an "estate," a place where they could be connected to the salt of the earth, the fresh, open air, and an aquatic playground, would be simple. He would keep some of it, some to develop, some to rent—there was no reason why only those who could afford to buy should have access to such a paradise—and he had chosen twelve-acre plot for his family.

He'd got a deal on that particular site, since the slope on the property that bordered the lake was alarmingly steep and the only spot for a house was a little too close to the water. And then, too, there were more fashionable lakes and more desirable locations even on Serenada itself. But those drawbacks pleased him—it never made sense to buy at the top. You made money only when you could see what others couldn't. And he could see that spread. He would put the land to work—which was another reason not to pick the sort of neighborhood where enterprise was frowned upon. He planned to do some farming, maybe produce cheese—some people in Aoni were having excellent luck with white cheddar—or raise angora goats. And he planned to build an impressive house.

His idea was a sort of Greek temple, with white pillars rising from the wide front porch to the roof. Because of the hill, the house would have to be narrow, but that was no matter since no one would see it from the side anyway. It was a facade that counted, and the facade would be grand. He would put a white lattice gazebo on the front lawn, and friends would gather there—men in cream-colored suits and women with parasols, their gauzy summer dresses rippling in the breeze off the lake.

The architect had tried to talk him into something more modest, something retiring in browns and greens, a Swiss chalet set back in the woods, furnished in rustic pine.

"Perhaps," the architect suggested, "you might make some of the furniture yourself."

Victor was not one to scoff at a suggestion. He liked the notion of himself sawing through the sweet-smelling wood, building fine, sturdy pieces his family would wear smooth for generations. He even went so far as to consult a man at the lumberyard, who sketched a small chest and made him a list of wood and tools. And then one afternoon he took his youngest son, Ron, into the backyard for company, and managed to cut the bottom of the chest and two sides, before ruining three boards and gashing his index finger.

He told the architect he would not be making his own furniture and insisted on the original plan. What good was a house people couldn't see? Mako agreed. In fact, she'd had ideas far better than the house, the way the wind had to sing through it from end to end, the way way the porch had to invite picnickers in off the lake at noon and command the sunset at the cocktail hour. She'd suggested the house be three stories, with spacious attics as well. She sketched the kitchen in a separate building, connected to the dining room by a breezeway to keep the main house cool. She insisted they also buy two lots to the east, so as to have plenty of space for a boathouse and land for Waiko, Natsuki and Ron to build homes for themselves when they were older. That was the way people did it, she said. He knew what she meant by "people"—the kind of people who would be putting him up for their clubs.

_Well, all's well that ends well_, Victor assured himself, spreading a thick layer of butter on his toast. If he'd never known Gumi, he'd never have found this place, this new setting that had invigorated him, made him feel like a young man again, full of promise all over again.

The cook came into the kitchen, tying her apron around her waist. "Up early again, Mr. Yonné?"

"The early bird get the worm, Eri." Victor took a large bite from his buttered toast, as if to prove his point. Then he pored her a cup of coffee from the pot and added some to his own.

"Well, if it's worms you want, you'd better get out in the yard," Eri Kamiaoi said, pulling out the flour bin. "I'm making popovers."

"One of these days I may just do that,"Victor said. Carrying his coffee with him, he went upstairs to bathe.

_It was that damn vacuum box_, he thought, while the water rushed into the tub. If that had been a success, his thoughts would have never gone back to Gumi. You'd think he'd never failed before, the way that disaster had got under his skin. And Mako—he frowned at himself in the mirror, was his hair getting thin at the temples?—a wife was supposed to support you, not continually remind you with patronizing sighs that it was her money you were spending and that she'd always said this or that was a foolish risk. Gumi had not thought the vacuum box was foolish. She understood its potential, and she was a nurse, which ought to count for something. She appreciated his other projects, too. He remembered her asking about the lead mines. Did they use canaries there? She wanted to know. That was the night she squealed when there waiter brought the caviar to the table. But she'd tried it when he urged her and she'd liked it when he said she should. He eased himself into the hot water, thinking what a pleasant thing it was to spend an evening with a woman like that, a woman who really believed in you.

But in that dim post office, she was not at all as he'd remembered her. He would never have imagined she'd still be angry, not after more than a year, but there wasn't an ounce of friendship in the way she looked at him. She'd looked older, too, and thin in the cheeks, which was not, as he considered it now, unattractive on her. If he could've touched her face, he thought, or even her hand, it would have been better, it would have brought her back to him, but that was impossible with Mako in the car just outside and that woman watching from behind the counter.

And what was Gumi doing with that little girl that didn't resemble a bit like her? In his mind, Gumi still wore her tidy nurse's apron all day and sat demurely on the glider of the nurses' residence at night.

Through the door, Victor could hear his wife sliding the chair back from her dressing table, opening the drawer in which she kept her combs and hatpins, preparing for morning Mass. He knew just how Mako looked, holding her back very straight as she sat before the mirror, brushing her black hair deliberately.

"Mako! I'm out of soap!" he called, wrapping the bar he'd been about to use in the washcloth and pushing it under his knee.

"In the little table," she said, and he heard the dressing-room door close behind her. Did she expect him to stand shivering and dripping in the middle of the bathroom, searching through drawers? What if he really had been out of soap?

But it would serve him right if she never wanted to do anything for him again, wouldn't it? Victor began to scrub himself. The idea that he'd been chasing a woman who turned out to be a lunatic scared him a little. Well, it was over now, all of that. Mako would see that from now on things would again be the way they'd once been between them.

_This is a lesson for me_, he told himself, _a warning. From now on, I'm faithful to my wife_.

Saying that always made him feel optimistic. he sighed and lay back in the soothing warm water. He closed his eyes and draped a wet washcloth over his face to soften his skin. He began to think about that camera that took pictures of bones right through the skin. Couldn't that be used somehow in mining?

Waiko Yonné, sixteen years old, padded down the hall wearing the robe and slipper in which her father, Victor had, on one recent uncomfortable morning, mistaken her for a young woman. Natsuki Yonné, eighteen, groaned and stuffed his face in his pillow and then, in one dramatic desperate movement, threw off his blankets and swung his bare feet onto the floor.

Ron Yonné, six, came to full wakefulness as the water splashed into the washstand that stood against one wall of the room he shared with his older brother. He stayed still with his eyes closed, listening to the hangers scraping along the rod and the dresser drawers sliding open and not being banged shut. When Natsuki left the room, Ron got out of bed and went in his pajamas to squat beside his city of toy blocks. He did his best work in the morning, while the bolt of the bathroom door slid open and shut, open and shut, the water rushed through the pipes, feet galloped down and up and down the stairs, china clinked in the kitchen and finally the front door slammed and slammed and slammed.

And then, for a time, the morning's noises lulled and the only sound in the house, as the shaft of sunlight across the bedroom floor headed steadily toward the closet, was Ron's faintly adenoidal breathing and the dense click of the wooden blocks. Just after eight chimes on the front room clock, his mother's slippers shuffled along the hallway floor, and then she would be standing over him, stretching her arms like a cat and afterward retying the belt on her housecoat. Hiking the housecoat up, she'd sit on her heels besides Ron on the floor and move blocks purposefully about, as if she knew where they were supposed to go. He let her put them wherever she wished, although of course he had to move them later. Finally, when she was bored with her efforts at play, she swooped him up with a kiss. He smelled her coffee-laced breath and her sweetly lotioned hands. At last, their day would truly begin.

Mako had left the raising of Waiko and Natsuki when they were young and uninteresting to the nursemaids, but Ron was different, or perhaps she was, and she dreaded September when he would start school, and she would no longer be able to have him with her to herself all day.

This morning, after church, they were going to pay a call on a Mrs. Akemi Wakana, who'd promised to make a contribution toward the new public library. Mako knew that people who gave money liked to see a thankful recipient rather than send their check through the anonymous post. At 26 Loola Street, they were shown into a bright parlor where Mrs. Wakana and her friend Mrs. Anami were leafing through a sheaf of watercolors.

"Look at this one!" Mrs. Wakana commanded, holding for Mako to admire a roiling seascape, in which blues, greens and grays had been mingled to form a sort of mud. "I don't know where my Aiko gets her talent. I can't draw worth a stick and Satsuki can hardly sign his name."

"It's lovely," Mako said.

"Remarkable," Mrs. Anami concurred.

"The way she's captured the feeling!" Mrs. Wakana said, holding the painting at arm's length and squinting in an attempt to bring some aspect, any aspect, of the picture into focus. "That's the mark of a true artist."

Mako politely agreed. And then, since she'd met Mrs. Wakana and Mrs. Anami when they were serving on several Red Cross committees during the war, they discussed when they'd last seen and what they'd last heard about this woman and that, and laughed about the day they'd shoveled three hundred pounds of peach pits for the gas masks, while Ron had nothing to do but take a cookie whenever it was offered and turn the pages of a picture book that he had brought along. He never understood his mother's intentions of bringing him along. But he was a good boy and didn't bother the nice women that he was mother was speaking to and stayed quiet, even without his mother telling him to. Plus, he was thoroughly bored with their chatter and it wasn't like there really was anything else he could do.

"You know, I think we saw your daughter last week at the Menostown Renards," Mrs. Anami said finally to Mako. "Do I remember rightly that her name is Waiko?"

Ron began to listen then. It always seemed strange to him that people he'd never seen before should know about his older sister and brother.

"How good of you to remember," Mako said.

"She was with another young lady," Mrs. Wakana said. "A girl with an unfortunate nose."

"Kumiko Aion. Yes, it's really too bad about her nose."

"I'm sure she's a lovely girl," Mrs. Wakana said, with the complacency of one whose daughter's nose was straight and neat.

"She's not a girl I would choose as a friend for Waiko, but one's children don't always do just what one would like, do they?"

Mako thought Kumiko was awkward, loud and humorless, and unlikely to attract the sort of people she wished Waiko would associate with. In particular, she wanted Waiko to show more interest in the young men in her social circle. It upset her to see her daughter—with so many opportunities and so much talent (although Waiko had never seen a body of water larger than Lake Boka*, _her_ seascapes really did capture the sense of the ocean)—squander her chances for happiness. Still, Mako comforted herself, Waiko could be quite pretty when she got herself up. Surely she would grow into a more appropriate attitude once she learns to drop her aggravating, cold demeanor.

Mrs. Wakana sipped her tea and didn't answer, but her look above her teacup was pitying and smug.

"Natsuki," Mako said,"my older son, has got a very good position. He's with the First Bank, you know. And the things they have him do! Really, it makes me nervous sometimes to think of all that money."

Of course, Natsuki did not yet have any real responsibility. He mostly carried papers from one office to another for bank officers to sign. But they were very important papers. And for the vice president was always assuring him that he would go far.

"So he's not going to college?" Mrs. Wakana said, biting a lady's finger carefully so the powdered sugar wouldn't fly.

"Well, no. He didn't see the point. You see, he worked at the bank as an errand boy in the summers, and when he graduated from St. Jay's, they offered him this job right away."

"I'm not saying he needs the education. Goodness knows, my Seichi came out of Prestent as stupid as he went in. But it's the friends you make, the society. You can't expect him to get ahead unless he knows the right people."

"Probably he'll go to college in a year or two," Mako rashly cut in. "I wouldn't be surprised."

A significant look passed between Mrs. Wakana and Mrs. Hiko, whose son would be a junior at the U. of C. that fall and Mako could see that she had somehow shown herself to a disadvantage.

Mrs. Anami opened a fresh subject. "I understand you're building a summer place."

"Yes," Mako answered warily. What would they make of a too narrow house on a too steep slope on the wrong side of the wrong lake?

"Oh, I wish I could convince Satsuki to do that," Mrs. Wakana said. "You can't get away from the smell of the river here in the summertime. It's simply unbearable. But he won't leave the city. You miss too many opportunities, he says, when you're away. That's all very well for him, but what opportunities would I miss? He doesn't give a thought to Aiko. She doesn't see why we should have to stay in town—especially when all of her friends go. 'If we must stay, we have a place on Lake Boka,' I tell him. But he won't do that either. 'this house was good enough for my father,' he says,'and it's good enough for me.' So here we are, completely dependent on the good graces of relatives and friends who have summer places." She smiled at Mako.

"We would love to have you stay with us as soon as the house is ready," Mako said. "We'll be joining the yacht club and the tennis club, and I know Waiko and Natsuki would be delighted to take Aiko with them to the various functions." In fact, Waiko was dead set against joining any clubs she judged "hoity-toity," and Natsuki had never managed to get the knack of tennis, but Mako trusted that these minor hitches would solve themselves once she got her family into a new setting, where their true personalities had room to flower. She was counting on this house also to rectify one major problem—the waywardness of her husband. Already she could see a change in Victor. He arrived home promptly every evening so that they could pore over the blueprints together. He described his plans to her with the same excitement he'd shown when they were first courting and he was eager to hear how she'd receive them. And he knocked on her bedroom door frequently. Yes, he'd certainly come back to her, and she was convinced that this new project, for which he welcomed her ideas as well as her money, just as he'd done in the early days, would keep him close.

Later, when Mako paused on the steps of the Wakana's home and released Ron's hand so that she could fold the check and slip it into her purse, she decided that the visit had been satisfactory overall. That the house was all right was a particular relief. She hadn't been sure before this. Victor had been sure, but then he was positive about every one of his schemes—his enthusiasm meant nothing. But Akemi Wakana wouldn't approve just anything and nor would Eli Anami.

Now Mako felt free to imagine her family there—Ron pushing a toy sailboat along the shore with a stick, his knees grass-stained and his hair grown just a tad longer; Natsuki, at the tiller of a real sailboat, squinting up at the bright white canvas, maybe even winning a regatta and then presenting her with the silver cup; Waiko sitting with a nice boy, a friend of Natsuki's, perhaps, in the gazebo the final hour of Sunday evening, enjoying the agony of the thought that they wouldn't see each other again for at least a week.

And she and Victor? _Too soon, too soon_, she thought. She didn't dare count on it. But she kept the notion warm, like a seed beneath the frost line.

At four o'clock each day, Mako and Ron took a nap together on the cool satin comforter that covered her bed. Before they fell asleep, each would lie listening to the quiet, steady breathing of the other, watching the afternoon shadows slowly stain the ceiling. Sometimes Ron would rest his head on his mother's stomach and wonder at the continuous gurgle that no one but he could hear.

At five-thirty Ron went out to sit on the stone front steps to wait for his father to come home. He couldn't be dissuaded from this duty, even in the worst of weather. When it rained or hailed, he stood close to the house, under the overhand that protected the front door. When it was sunny or snowy, he amused himself while he waited by jumping from step to step. Sometimes he ranged over the entire yard, using the steps only as a base. Always, though, he kept the street strictly in sight, for he worried that, if he did not, his father might not come safely home, and he knew his father ought to come home, even though he sometimes wished he wouldn't.

Why did his father make his mother sad sometimes?

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><p>AN:

Well, now you get a feeling on just how the rest of Victor's family views him. Even little Ron doesn't seem too fond of him but he feels obliged to be by his side for some reason that he even he doesn't quite understand. And wasn't this chapter a lot shorter than the previous ones? Tell me what you thought of it in a review and I'll see if I can get to updating a bit quicker as well.

~Mipiko


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:

A quick thank you to the Anonymous reviewer that brought up a good point. Yes, I do see that there is a lot of text (it's overwhelming for me to even write and type it out!), but I don't want to lose my readers' interest because if I halved the chapters, then it would amount to forty chapters, and I think that twenty is a good length. I hope you understand and thank you very much for saying that about my Fic. However, there are people out there that write so much better than me and if I knew who you were, I'd PM you a list of them that are from this Category.

I also want to apologize for the belated update. The PC broke down on me and I was being an ass about sending it in to someone to fix it. But I figured out how to do it myself! 8D

*ahem* That being said, on with the Fic!

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><p>On the advice of Pastor Jero, Kaito had arranged for Ring Suzune , a second cousin once removed on his father's side, to come from Kai District to do the housework and to keep an eye on Ppoine while Gumi was away at Saint Anzu's. Ring had made it crystal clear that she was not entirely pleased with the arrangement.<p>

"I'll say it straight out, Kaito," she had said, dropping her carpetbag so that it fell at her feet with a heavy thump. "I know there was something funny going on in this house. You might think we're ignorant up in Kai, but we hear things. Another one mightn't have come, but you're in a fix and family's family, so here I am." She crossed her arms over her bosom and waited for him to answer.

"What do you mean 'something funny'?"

"I don't know, but I do know that a decent woman doesn't hide on an island for months, not speaking to another soul and I also know that a decent woman drowns in broad daylight when everyone can see what's what, not in secret in the middle of the night. That's what I know."

Kaito narrowed his eyes, as if trying to sharpen his vision. "I don't understand, what're you driving at?"

"I'm not saying anything more. Gossip is wicked. That's how I was taught. I just wanted to make my position clear."

But she'd only made things more murky for Kaito. What had happened while he'd been away? He should have pressed Gumi when he'd had the chance; asking her now was out of the question. That night, in his room, Kaito searched the photograph of Miki that stood on his nightstand. He picked it up by the frame and lightly traced Miki's outline, trying. . . what? . . . To make her speak, to change her expression? She smiled on, looking as if she was meant to live forever.

For the first week or two after Gumi went away, Ppoine was restless. She wandered from room to room, stopping to stare out of every low-silled window. She picked up objects as she went, light, little things_—_her blanket, her bear, a spoon, a stocking from Gumi's drawer_—_and she dropped them absently along her way so that by the end of the day the house was strewn with litter. And she cried, although really the sound was more of a whimper, a weak keening that seemed to hover at the base of her throat, spilling out at the least provocation and often with no provocation at all and was unstanchable once again. Once or twice Ring patted her lap and held out her arms to the little girl.

"Come to Ring now," she said, smiling reassuringly at Kaito.

But Ppoine turned away, would not even come close. Ring, embarrassed, seemed to close her heart against Ppoine then. "There's no pleasing some people," she haughtily sniffed, standing abruptly and brushing her lap away. Kaito held Ppoine and rocked her, but never for long. She slipped from his arms and out of his lap like quicksilver and he was unable to arrest her adrift until she fell asleep in some corner, exhausted.

And then one day at breakfast she held out her empty glass that formerly held milk in both hands, showing it in front of her father to get his attention.

"What do you say?" he prompted, lifting the milk pitcher. When she said nothing, only thrust her glass forward again, he realized that he hadn't heard her speak a word in days.

"Ppoine, what do you say?" he repeated, more sternly this time.

Still, she said nothing.

"I'd like some milk, please," he said.

Ppoine gave the table one smart rap with the bottom of her glass.

"That's enough, Ppoine." He set the pitcher back on the table and reached to take the glass out of her hands. It was impossible to say, really, what happened next, whether she dropped it deliberately or only release her hold before his grip was firm? In any case, the glass hit the floor with a crash. Ring came down to breakfast as he was sweeping up.

"Ppoine doesn't get anything today unless she asks for it properly, Ring," he said, dumping the shards into the wastebasket. "She knows how to talk."

"I understand," Ring answered, pouring coffee into her cup as if the kitchen were her own. She seemed almost pleased, Kaito realized, at the chance to punish little Ppoine, and it made him regret saying those words.

"I don't mean you should starve her."

Ring looked at him thoughtfully and took a long sip of her coffee. "You let females walk all over you, Kaito, did you know that? Even that _—,_"she saw Kaito glare at her from the corner of his eye,"_—_this little thing here. You don't do her no favors, letting her have her way."

Her talking like that made him angry, but maybe she was right, about Ppoine anyway. What did he know about raising a little girl? He worried about her, losing two mamas, no wonder she wasn't acting right, but what could he do about it? Ring knew best, he thought, he hoped, as he hurried out to the barn.

At noon Ring made a cheese sandwich and held it out to Ppoine on a plate. When the little girl reached for it, she lifted it high above her head. "What do we say?" she prompted.

Ppoine began to whimper.

"Crocodile tears won't get you nowhere with me, young lady."

Ring took a bite out of the sandwich and chewed it deliberately as Ppoine began to shriek.

Ring set the sandwich down and rummaged through a drawer. When she turned to face Ppoine again, she was holding a wooden spoon, a scowl sketched on her face. "I'll give you something to cry about." She harshly grabbed Ppoine by the arm and landed three or four good smacks on Ppoine's bottom. "That'll learn you."

Ppoine, shocked that she had been punished in such a way, automatically stopped screaming and went numb. She didn't even feel Ring pick her up around the waist, carried her upstairs and deposited her in her room and shut the door.

Ring made supper for them every night, usually boiled potatoes and some piece of meat, cooked until it had relinquished the very last of its juices.

"She isn't even properly trained," she complained, spreading mustard onto her potato with her knife.

"What do you mean? Trained in what?" Kaito usually kept his head down when he ate, so as not to have to watch her chew, but he looked up now, puzzled.

"You know. . . Trained. . ."

When Kaito, still uncomprehending, shook his head, Ring blushed and lowered her eyes. "Y-you know. . . She wets herself. . ."

It was such a relief to see Ring looking that way, disconcerted, unformidable, that Kaito laughed. And amazingly Ring laughed too.

"It's nothing to laugh at," she protested, but she was still smiling. For a few brief moments they looked at each other, struck by the difference, but neither knew how to go on.

"Well, what do we do about it?" Kaito asked finally.

"I guess I know how to train a child."

Ring's training method consisted of not allowing Ppoine to change her panties when she wet them. And, of course, that meant that she wasn't allowed to sit down anywhere in the house. "You have to learn to live with your mistakes," Ring had sternly told her. Ppoine took to hiding her wet underthings and wearing nothing under her skirt for the rest of the day.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Kaito," Ring had said, meeting him at the back door the day she discovered Ppoine's trick," but a normal child, a decent child, doesn't run around naked. You can see she wasn't brung up right. It's no wonder the sister's in the nut house. And it makes you wonder about the mother, too. I'm sorry to say but it does."

She did not seem sorry to say it. At all. She seemed pleased, triumphant. Kaito was outraged by her expression and slammed his fist on the door, startling her. "You have no right to say such things about my wife and about her family! If that's the way you feel, you can go back home. I'll give you the money for your ticket."

Ring didn't know what to say for a moment or two but quickly recovered from his outburst when she smoothed a wrinkle from her apron. "And leave you alone with a child like that? I think I know my duty better than that."

She turned, then, abruptly, and went into the kitchen and busied herself among the pans. Kaito put his jacket back on and took himself back out to the barn, although he had already decided that he was through for the day, and began to soap Josephine's bridle.

_How dare she!_ he thought. _How dare she say such things about Miki, about her family? She's only a jealous spinster, trying to cause trouble for another woman, a happy woman, a woman who'd had a husband who loved. . .loves her. _He rubbed the bridle hard, until the rag he was using slipped and the friction of his fingers against the leather burned his skin, but he didn't care. Why couldn't a woman just drown? People drowned all the time, that's what Gumi had said. Gumi, who couldn't tie her own shoes now. _But that had nothing to do with it_, he assured himself. Of course people drowned. It didn't mean that there was something wrong, something to be wondered about.

The doubt gnawed at him, though. Doubt about what, exactly, he couldn't say. If only he could speak to Miki, just for a few minutes. If only he could see her, then, he thought, he would know; he would be reassured. And so. . .and so. . . perhaps Ring, while not knowing anything for certain_—_how could she know anything for certain?_—_sensed something that he was too dull to perceive.

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><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

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><p>Ppoine began to smash things. She poked at the flower pots on the porch railing with a stick until they crashed onto the slates below. She pushed the milk pitcher off the table. She dropped her grandmother Hiirone's collection of Mexican glass animals one by one onto the hearthstone. She tore pages out of books and ripped the stereograph pictures in two. She sawed the edge of the kitchen table with a butter knife.<p>

"Horrible, horrible child!" Although Ring came as fast she could the moment she heard a bang or a crash, she was seldom quick enough to get a good grip on Ppoine, who scuttled away, half running, half sliding down the stairs into the cellar, where she crouched in the space under the laundry sink, pressed tightly against the wall, next to the bleach and the lye. The fingers flailed before her, clawing for a hold on her scalp and then slapping wildly in frustration. Ring did not go easily on her knees. She bent before the tiny cupboard, one hand clutching the sink for support, the other groping blindly in the dark recesses. Her thick dress and legs, planted wide, blocked escape with a wall of flowered yellow.

Finally, she managed her weight and shoved her shoulder in more deeply to extend her reach, until she could grab a bit of Ppoine's skirt or a handful of her hair. then she'd drag her, howling, out and up the stairs to the drawer with the wooden spoon.

When Kaito came in, Ring met him at the door with a paper sack of broken pieces so often that he began to wonder what fragile thing could possibly be left in the house to destroy. The only variation to this pattern came on a wet afternoon, when for a moment Ring's hand, groping for Ppoine beneath the sink, paused in midair. That day Ppoine bit, relishing the living flesh between her teeth, the slightly salty tang of the skin. For a shimmering half moment the house was silent. Ring stared at her hand in surprise and then she screamed like a peacock. She held out her bandaged hand as soon as Kaito reached the porch.

"You better know," she snarled,"that you're raising a wild animal."

Kaito felt guilty. He tried to make it up to her by being extra polite himself, not interfering in the way she treated Ppoine, no matter how much he wanted to step in, by moving her things into the best bedroom. What would they do if she left them?

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><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

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><p>Kaito stood just inside the door of the common room at St. Anzu's, wishing his sister-in-law would pull herself together. Gumi had moved her chair, turning her back on the room, so that she could stare into the woods where the snow clung stubbornly, refusing to give way to the spring. She had been in the sanatorium for nearly a year.<p>

Her hands were busy, the fingers of one working at the thumb of the other, a habit he'd noticed lately. He could see that someone had encouraged her to dress herself_—_the policy when a patient was well enough_—_for her skirt was twisted and her blouse misbuttoned. Her hair, wavy, and inclined to wildness, a quality he had once thought rather nice, looked, well. . . like a lunatic's.

"Gumi," he said and she jumped, separating her hands and letting her arms hang limply at her sides. She turned to him and nodded gravely. "Hello Kaito. And how've you been keeping yourself?"

"Oh, fine, fine," he said, seating himself on the neighboring chair and reaching over to squeeze her hand, She allowed him to do this but did not return his gentle pressure.

"Don't you want to fix yourself up a little?" he asked.

Gumi touched her bodice and her hair as if surprised to learn that she was not completely presentable.

"Well, I . . . I suppose." she faltered. "I. . . well, I have no mirror, you know." she said accusingly.

"I can help you then," Kaito said softly. "The buttons aren't right," he began, reaching a hesitant finger toward her, first at a place toward the middle of her stomach where the fabric was skewed, and then, thinking better of that. touching the stray corner of cloth that jutted too high around her neck.

"They've hidden my slippers again, as you can see," she said, holding her stocking feet out to prove it.

Seeing her long, thin feet and skinny ankles stuck out like that seemed almost worse, more embarrassingly intimate, than seeing the sliver of camisole through her misbuttoned blouse. While Kaito cast his eyes down and searched under the chairs for her slippers, Gumi discreetly redid her buttons.

"That's better," he said, settling her cardigan over her shoulders. He wished he could smooth her hair a little while he stood there behind her, but he wasn't brave enough to touch it. And anyway, what would he do? He had no idea how women did what they did to their hair.

"Well, I don't wan to keep you now," she said when he'd finished.

"Oh, you're not keeping me at all." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs comfortably. It was nice to be there, away from Ppoine not talking and Ring talking so much. He could see why she wanted to stay.

"I know you've got to be getting home," she said, more firmly this time.

So he sighed and rose from his chair. He told her that he would be back the next day, unless he had to wait for the farrier, in which case he could come the next. When he was gone, she tipped her head back against the chair, so that the tears that filled her eyes would not spill over.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>I told you to go back, Miki. I told you that. I told you. Why won't you ever mind me?<p>

You were trouble from the day you were born. You don't remember it, but I do. All that crying and crying in the night, so much crying that Mama and Papa couldn't stand it_—_they put your cradle in with me. You don't remember, but I sang to you. I rubbed your back. I lifted you up and bounced you on my lap. I brought you into my bed and tucked your heard under my chin, but you still wouldn't rest. I fell asleep to your wailing, and it raged like a storm though my dreams. You wouldn't remember that.

And then that first summer you got quiet, like a doll, lying there in your crib, and fierce red spots bloomed all over your body. Papa made up the daybed for me in the back room downstairs. He forbade me to go upstairs where you and Mama were for fear of contagion. I know now, although I didn't then.

I tried to keep a regular schedule, tried to wash my face and teeth when I got up in the morning and before I went to bed at night. I wandered around the yard and the barn all day or laid my paper dolls out on the floor. Sometimes the hired girl remembered to make me a sandwich. Otherwise, at dinnertime, I stood on a stool to reach the crackers down from the cupboard. I dipped the broken ones, the ones nobody would miss, in a jar of blackberry jam. Morning, noon and night, I could hear Mama crooning beside your cradle.

One afternoon I must have fallen asleep because the hot sun slanting across my face woke me. My hair stuck in the jam smeared across my cheek. I felt exhausted, hot, and hungry. And something was wrong. I could hear nothing, no sound at all from the room overhead.

I made my way up the stairs, one silent step at a time, ready to run down the moment I heard Mama's shoes on the landing or Papa's hand at the door. At the top of the stairs, I could see into the bedroom where you lay, all alone and still. I went in. I laid my hand on your tiny brow. It was as hot as a loaf of bread right out of the oven. I couldn't even tell if you were breathing. And then Mama came at me.

"Don't touch her! Don't you touch her! Get out of here this instant!"

I hardly recognized her, her hair flying every way, her shirtwaist stained, not the neat, pretty Mama that I knew. I snatched my hand away and ran out of the room, down the stairs, out of the back door. I ran across the yard and into the woods. The brambles clawed at my skin, bit I clamped my teeth together and did not cry. The slim branches slapped against my cheeks, but I ran on. I ran until I came to the edge of the lake, The water was flat and green. It lay like a smooth path from where I stood to a burst of trees and rocks at its middle, the island. Out there, the sun fell full on lush leaves. so that the place glowed.

I wandered along the shore, catching my breath, keeping my eye on the island. Had I known how, I would have thrown myself into the water and swum to it. And then I came upon a boat, a small wooden rowboat, its robin's-egg blue paint nearly rubbed away. Its bow rested in the mud. Its stern floated free, so that even I, with my puny strength, could pry it loose from the shore. I climbed in, picked up one of the oars, and used it as a pole to push myself into the deep water. And then I paddled away, away, to my island. That was the first time I escaped to that place. I believed everything would be all right there, you see. I thought so then. I thought so later. But later I was wrong.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>"Well, Kaito, how was she?" Ring asked, passing him a bowl of pickled beets.<p>

Kaito shook his head. "Not so good."

Ring nodded. She took a large bite from her buttered bread and then, with exaggerated daintiness, dabbed the crumbs from her lips with a corner of her napkin and smoothed some stray hairs behind an ear. Kaito noticed for the first time a coquettish tilt to her head and he cleared his throat nervously.

"Ppoine's been behaving better, I noticed," he said.

"Oh, Ppoine and I get along good nowadays, don't we Ppoine?" Ring reached to pat Ppoine's head with a stiff hand, but Ppoine ducked from her touch. "She's a good little helper," Ring went on, pretending she'd only meant to retrieve a few peas that had rolled from the girl's plate onto the oilcloth. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's beginning to think I'm her mama."

She gave Kaito a sort of dreamy smile that made him push his chair from the table and gulp down the remainder of his coffee standing up.

"G-gotta take a ride into town. Running out of. . ." but he was out of the door before he'd finished the sentence.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>Ppoine had stopped breaking things after the night she dropped a pocket watch over the railing at the top of the stairs.<p>

"This was my papa's. . . " Her father had said to her, stroking the shattered face with his thumb and then he covered his own face with his hands until Ppoine was frightened. She climbed onto his knee and pulled those hands away before wrapping her short arms around his neck. There really wasn't anything left for her to break, anyway.

She watched Ring often now, quietly shadowing her at a distance of about five feet and copying her walk, the angle of her head, the weary gesture she used to push the hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. That afternoon she sat on the rug in Ring's room, observing Ring at her simple privy.

"A little attention to appearance can make a big difference," Ring said, eying Ppoine's reflection in her mirror while she patted cream on her flat cheeks with her fingertips. "Here," she said, taking from a drawer the corset she wore only on Sundays under her church clothes,"are your hands clean? Feel this."

Ppoine ran one careful finger along the edge.

"Real Belgian lace," Ring said. "See how fine it is? That's the highest quality you can buy. And this here is to make your face nice," she explained, taking a tiny pot of rouge and a red lipstick from the back of a drawer.

Once she'd shown the effect to Ppoine and examined it herself in the mirror, she carefully wiped all traces of paint away before leaving the room.

* * *

><p>AN:

This was going to be a lot longer. It's only about 5,000 words but the other one was about. . . 10,000. Sooo. . . Yeah, this one will be split into two separate ones. Well, I wanted to explain how Ppoine's hair color can be so light, so I figured of Ring taking the position of that cruel Aunt deal, but she seemed to have gotten along a bit better with Ppoine. I was too lazy to want to go too into detail on what else happened during her year, so meh. . . Plus, I'll be updating so much more slower on, not only this, but on pretty much all of my fics. I'm sorry, but I'm taking a break to focus on college and stuff. . . Well, review if you want to.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N:

Reading everyone's reviews makes my day, it really does. Thank you all very much talking about the chapter lengths, I think I'll keep them the length that they are, then. As my way of showing thanks, I tried to hurry up with the next chapter, so here it is~

Thank you, _Queen of Double Standards_, _AnimeCatMew_ and _Shadow Fox777_!

* * *

><p>"I invited some ladies," Kaito said that evening as he stomped his feet on the back porch.<p>

Ring, standing guard to be sure he shed his muddy boots, narrowed her eyes and tried to peer behind him, as if she expected half a dozen women clustered on the lawn. "What are you talking about?"

"I thought you might be lonely way out here, so I invited some ladies over to the house next week," he said, as casually as he could manage. Avoiding her look, he turned to hang his jacket neatly on its hook. "Kind of like a party, I guess."

"Kaito, you didn't!" She blocked his way into the kitchen, her hands on her hips.

"Wh-what? Did I do something wrong? Wouldn't you like to have a little company?"

"I run all over kingdom come after that child. I break my back over the housework every day. And _now_ you want me to have a party? !"

"I just thought you'd like, you know, to see some people. Your mother had ladies over every Thursday, I remember."

"Wednesday you fool. And what do you expect me to do with these people I hardly know?"

"I don't know what ladies do." He admitted with a shrug. "Play cards, I guess. Drink coffee. . . Eat cake."

"CAKE? ! Oh, so now you want me to bake, right? And there ain't hardly three matching cups in this house! Ever thought of that? No, I suppose not with that look on your face!"

Kaito ducked away from Ring's flailing hands. "Well, all right, Ring. I'll tell them tomorrow that never mind about coming and -"

"And then they'll think I can't manage company. No, the damage is done, thanks to you." She huffed and returned to the stove where she vigorously stirred with a wooden spoon a substance that had begun to explode in angry bubbles.

Throughout that week she sent Kaito on at least one trip to town a day to buy special items like fresh playing cards and cute little pads of paper and quarter length pencils from Utaren's, and nuts and dried fruit and sugar in cubes from Crêpene's. She hired Rui Kagene, one of Rin's cousins, to help out for the afternoon and directed Big Al to burrow through the attic for card tables. For three evenings in a row, supper conversation consisted primarily of Ring's debate with herself over buying a fancy layer cake with pink and yellow roses from Sukone's or baking her own much-admired-in-Kei stollen. She even sewed one of her best handkerchiefs to a ribbon to make Ppoine a tiny apron of her own and made her practice walking extra carefully around the room, stopping before each chair to offer the cream pitcher and sugar bowl on a silver tray.

"If this is a nice party," she told Ppoine,"I wouldn't be surprised if we start a club. My mother and I belonged to three card clubs back in the Kai District, you know."

The evening before the event, Ring looked up at him expectantly from her dish. "Kaito, you'll come in, won't you?" She kept her eyes on the applesauce she was spooning on her plate. "Just for half an hour or so, twenty minutes. I know everyone'd want to see you. And Ppoine's been working so hard on the serving."

Kaito looked at his daughter. She hadn't caused any trouble for weeks, months eve, but she still would not speak. He wished that she _would_ cause trouble. After all, it was a way of expression, a little bit of noise was good enough for him. But what could he do? You couldn't make a child talk. You couldn't even make them break things.

He made a show chewing his meat, stalling for time. He knew Ring wanted him for her own sake, not for his daughter's, but what was half an hour? Surely he could be gallant for that little time to please her. She was looking after his only child, after all, as well as she knew how. And if that wasn't very well, he realized it all wasn't together her fault. He'd known his cousin as a child in Kai, and he reminded himself that she could hardly help growing into the hard and unpleasant woman she'd become—she'd almost been born that way.

"All right, I'll come in," he said with a tired smile. "What time?"

"Oh, lets say around four o'clock," Ring beamed. "Give people time to settle down."

The next morning Ring hurried everyone through breakfast. By dinnertime the stollen was frosted, the cushions plumped, the clean antimacassars smoothed, and the teaspoons polished and examined for fingerprints. To save time and to keep the kitchen clean, she'd only made cold sandwiches for the noon meal.

"I know you have better things to do than sit around here waiting for a bunch of hens," she said when Kaito and Al seemed inclined to linger over their coffee. They drained their cups dutifully and pushed their chairs back.

"You're not forgetting?" Ring asked Kaito at the door. "And you'll put on a clean shirt?"

"I'm not forgetting," he assured her while he picked Ppoine up and rubbed his cheek against hers. He tossed her up in the air once and twice and couldn't help feeling pleased when he saw the faint smile on his daughter's face. He kissed her forehead before giving her a gentle push between her shoulders to send her away. "You be good, now."

* * *

><p>~ . . . ~<p>

* * *

><p>Ring went into the bathroom in her slip, and Ppoine watched her sponge soap and water under her arms and around her neck. She watched Ring's long hair, charged with one hundred strokes, rise secions of it in the air and effortless create two pigtails before twisting them into a bun, like a sweet roll on a woman's head. Wedged between the wardrobe and the wall, Ppoine watched Ring take her corset from the wardrobe, slide her arms through the straps, and pucker up her lips and blow, until she'd squeezed all the air from her lungs. Her fingers strained to pull the sides together over her waist and ribs. One, two, three hooks done. She took a small, shallow breath and pushed even that air out again. Four.<p>

And then they heard a ripping sound. Ring stopped breathing. The sound ceased. She breathed again and there it was. One of the seams was giving way. Quickly, Ring loosened the hooks to ease the strain. "No, no, no, no, don't let this happen," she whispered.

But it did happen. The damage was done. Up one side was a long tear and there was no time to repair it. She sank to the bed and sat for a moment or two, her head bowed. Then she straightened her shoulders, slipped the corset off her arms and dropped it on her bed. "It's a lucky thing," she told Ppoine,"I listened to my mama and spent my money on quality when I bought this dress. It fits fine even without a foundation, don't you think?" She turned sideways in front of the mirror, sucked her already flat stomach in and smoothed the fabric over it.

"It'll have to do," she huffed. "No one's wearing those bulky things anyway nowadays. I heard Mrs. Kagamine saying so just the other week."

Ring leaned close to the mirror and examined her face. "Just the teeniest dot of color," she declared, pressing her finger into the roucge pot and then massaging the paint in a little circle onto each pasty cheek.

"Well?" she said, turning toward Ppoine, her cheeks a dramatic scarlet from the rough rubbing. "How do I look?"

Ppoine pressed her palms to her own, natural rosy face. She grinned.

Ring, however, frowned at her joke. "I bet you must think you're something, dontcha?" she said. "What's that on your dress? Mustard? Well, you can't wear that now. Hurry up, I don't have all day to tend to you, you know." she haughtily remarked.

But there was plenty of time, and when Rui arrived, half an hour before the guests were due, Ring and Ppoine were ready and waiting, sitting at the kitchen table so as not to muss the cushions in the front room. At three-twenty Yuzuki Yukari and Rion Tone knocked on the door and soon after that the rest of the ladies appeared, so that by three-thirty, the appointed hour, the entire party was assembled. Rui, carrying coats, ran lightly up and down the stairs and Ring ushered the ladies in and sat them down around the room. There was to be general conversation before they got down to the cards and then, after the first hand, refreshments.

It was a little awkward at the very first, as such things are, with the women uncertain to the room at large or only to the one or two seated nearby. Still, this quickly sorted itself out, and as they were all well acquainted, they didn't lack for conversation, especially since one particular topic held great interest for nearly all of them.

Although some asked quite forward questions and craned their necks to take in as much of the house as possible, and others only waited, smilinig polietely, to hear Ring's answers, there was hardly a one who was not morbidly curious to see what had become of the place "after all the tragedy this house has seen," and to hear about Gumi. Of course, one had to be delicate. This was, after all, her house. And then there was Rin to consider—since "they were such friends".

Nevertheless, pockets of gossip buzzed here and there, all around the room: "I understand she cut off all her hair." "They needed five men to drag her out of the house." "Tried to drown the little girl, that's what I heard." "Oh that poor, motherless child!"

Abruptly and rather loudly, Ring cried out,"Shall we play cards?" She was already snapping the legs of one of the folding tables into place.

"Oh yes, let's play!" Rin seconded.

"How would you like for us to sit?" Yuzuki questioned and those who had been about to pull chairs to the tables any old way hesitated.

"Oh," Ring said and looked blankly around the expectant group. "I hadn't really though of that."

"I think Darling might head up the first table, don't you Ring?" Rin said and Darling, one of the eldest women there and wife of the pastor, nodded and graciously stepped to her accustomed place. "And then Izune, the second. And Kamirei over here, I think." And she went on, as she knew Gumi would have liked, ably sorting the women into two congenial groups, as if she were arranging flowers.

Ring withheld the stiff packs of new cards until everyone was seated and then ceremoniously handed one to Darling and brought the other to her own table. They were well into thier first hand when, above the noicse, the kitchen door opened and closed.

"Just a moment," Ring said, her cheeks suddenly flushed, and left her place at the table and hurried into the kitchen.

Big Al had come in with Kaito and stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding his hat. Softly, shyly, when Ring was close, he said,"You look very pretty."

Ring looked at him severely and then turned away to take Kaito's hand and drew him with her into the front room. "You all know Kaito, of course," she sang out with unnatural gaiety that made the other women glance at one another over their cards. A murmur of "how d'ye dos" rose from the two tables. with his diffident manner, Kaito was charming, they all agreed and they knew he'd been bravely wounded in the war, although Rion and Momo remembered that he'd only been a meat packer when poor Miki married him.

"You'll stay for refreshments, won't you Kaito? Why don't we have them now?" Ring suggested, which made Darling raise her eyebrows, for they were in the middle of a hand, and she seemed likely to win.

Ring went to the kitchen door. "Rui, we're ready for our coffee."

"Sure," the girl said,"I'll bring it right in." she closed the magazine and went to the icebox for the ice cream, cream and milk.

"Where's Ppoine?" Ring looked around the kitchen and leaned down to peer under the sink. "I thought she was in here with you."

"Now that you say that," Rui said, turning in an ineffectual circle to scan the room,"I haven't seen her for quite a while."

"Well, you ought been watching her! Find her when you've got the coffee out and make sure her apron's on straight. She's probably filthy dirty by now."

When Ring rejoined her guests, she was smiling, but she darted anxious glances toward the door until Rui had safely deposited all the coffee cups and the two coffeepots on the side table.

"Stollen in just a minute." Ring announced and began pouring out. "Cream and sugar, Darling?"

Lapis Aoki, who didn't care for coffee and was hoping a pot of tea might also appear from the kitchen, saw Ppoine first. She gaped at the little girl, opening and closing her mouth, the corners of her lips threatening to break out into a smile.

"Ppoine Shion, what the dickens have you got on?"

Then everyone had to look at the little girl standing in the doorway, proudly holding the tray of sugar and cream before her. Pins stuck in all directions out of her light hair; her cheeks were smeared a brilliant red and her little arms were stuck through the straps of some large, lace-trimmed pink garment that hung down to her ankles.

It took Lapis a moment or two and bit her lip, trying to contain the information from spilling from her coral lips. The temptation was just too much. "Why, she's wearing a corset!" she exclaimed before clasping her dainty, gloved hands over her mouth, shocked at her own words. But even without her outburst, it was as clear as day.

_Best_, Kaito thought, _to act as if this were a joke_. He began to smile, looking at Ppoine. Now that she did not look like the little girl he knew, he suddenly recognized Miki's playfulness in her and the idea made him sad, but also comforted. In fact, almost happy. It was the first time since her death that he'd thought of his wife so tenderly and without any guilt ridden thoughts, that he felt a bit at ease; happy.

Carefully, Ring set the cup she was holding down on the tray. And then, looking neither left nor right, not stopping for a coat, she walked through the room and out the front door into the chilly April afternoon. Rin had lifted Ppoine under the arms. "Come on little one, let's get you all cleaned up," she said and carried her upstairs.

"We ought to be going," Darling said, pushing her chair away from the table decisively, and that galvanized the group. They got up and someone thought to send Rui for the coats, and to everyone's relief there was much noise and confusion in sorting out whose was whose.

"Oh, she'll get over it," Teto said to Kaito.

"Yes," AKIKOROID-Chan said, giving him a motherly pat on the shoulder,"by suppertime she'll be right as rain again, you'll see."

But they didn't know Ring. At dawn the next morning she was waiting in the kitchen with her bags packed. "My train leaves at five past seven."

"But who'll take care of Ppoine?" Kaito asked helplessly.

Ring looked at him scornfully, hand shoved inside of her coat pocket to prevent herself from slapping some sense into him. "She's the Devil's child," she seethed. "Let him take care of her."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>The sun was warm by the time Kaito returned from the station, though the air still whispered of winter. While he collected the eggs and slopped the pigs, Ppoine drew patterns with a stick in the mud outside of the pigpen. When the animals were fed, Kaito lifted Ppoine out of the dirt, intending to carry her in. She startled him when she shrieked. She clutched the fencepost, straining away from him with all of her strength. Her boots left muddy streaks on his trousers and she'd soiled herself, he could smell it. Five years old and no better than an animal. Out of frustration, he kicked the fence to try and release her hold on it, which she did not.<p>

"Fine! Then stay there!" He let her slither down his leg and drop back into the much. He rubbed a tired hand over his face and stalked off, walking as fast as his bad leg would allow, and didn't look back until he was inside of the house. Then, from the kitchen window, he watched her as he made his coffee. She had thrown away her stick and was using the heel of her hand now to push ditches in the dirt and then the flat of her palm to smooth them again.

the sun beat through the glass and the yellow kitchen clock ticked thickly over his head. He opened the window and Ppoine glanced up for a moment, startled. She seemed surprised to see the house, to see the window with him in it. She frowned and lowered her eyes again quickly, as if she hadn't meant to look.

What the hell was he supposed to do with her? The cat jumped up on the counter and rubbed its back against his elbow. He lifted his coffee cup and swallowed the dregs, rinsed it out and left it on the drainboard. He moved toward the door but turned back again. He wiped the cup with one of his shirttails and placed it gently upside down in the cupboard.

When he picked her up, she screamed again, but this time he held on. He bathed her, dressed her in her best dress. He combed her fine, straight hair and fixed a huge white bow to the top of her head. She frowned, and he worried that she was going to rip the bow off. Instead, she threaded her index finger through the left side of her head and pulled out some of her hair, leaving a large strand out kissing the front of her cheek. He sighed in relief. And then he realized that she did that very often now. Leaving a large piece of her hair dangling in the front, free from the hair ties and bows and hairpins that he and Al would put on her head. But he didn't want to question her. Must be a female thing.

After he was finished with her, he put a fresh shirt on himself, changed his trousers and fixed his hair before he hitched Josephine to the buggy and they set off for St. Anzu's. The wheels of the buggy jounced recklessly over the rutted road and Kaito devoted all of his attention to the driving. When they reached the well-groomed track that led up the hill to the sanatorium, he glanced at Ppoine on the seat beside him. The bow was now half undone and had slipped down her head and her hair looked as if it had never been brushed. What was that clump in the back? Burrs? One stocking had slipped to her ankle, the shoe on the other foot had come untied. Her dress had bunched strangely over her sash. She was disintegrating before his eyes. He clucked Josephine on and drove faster.

The track was carved through a thick wood and branches sliced the sunlight into a thousand pieces. At the top of the hill the trees thinned, and the building emerged, cream-colored brick, five stories high and square. A smaller building on the right of lannon stone and newer construction housed the director and his family, consisting of a wife, two roly-poly boys and an Irish setter. The children and the dog were chasing each other about the green lawn and paid no attention to Kaito and Ppoine as they went inside.

The place had once been a monastery and the monks' former cells were now private or semiprivate rooms, but except that the windows and heavy doors could be locked only from the outside, the atmosphere was one of a spa, or so Kaito imagined. Cream and maroon tiles formed the floor of the vestibule and of the lobby, easy to care for yet attractive. The stairway was made of a dark, highly polished wood. Occasionally a cacophony would echo through the halls, a sudden scream, a laugh that continued too long, or a spitting stream of imprecations, but most of the patients, at least in Gumi's wing, kept their troubles to themselves.

He was familiar with the receptionist, and she looked up from the letter she was writing just long enough to smile and wave on. "She's upstairs this morning," she said.

He removed his hat and climbed the uncarpeted stairs, pausing on the second-floor landing to smooth back his hair and straighten his tie and to gaze out the window down at the boys, who were now doing their best to ride the dog. Ppoine's little hand worked its way into his. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before continuing on. Outside the door of Room 321, he stopped. He knelt in front of Ppoine and tried to put her costume back together.

"Ppoine," he started,"you behave now. If you're good, she might come home. All right? Please be good. If not for me, then for your Aunt Gumi."

She stared at the Gumi's door and said nothing. He sighed, straightened and knocked. Like Ppoine, Gumi gave no answer, but then she never did. His knock was a warning, rather than a request. He opened the door and gently pushed Ppoine ahead of himself into the room. "Look who I've brought to see you today, Gumi."

Tentatively, as if though she thought Ppoine might only be an illusion, Gumi rose from her chair and reached to touch the girl's face with her fingertips.

Ppoine jumped back. "_I hate you_!" she shouted. "I hate you!"

Kaito stared at her, more shocked by the fact that she was speaking after staying silent for about two years rather than what she had just said. Gumi stared at her too. Horrified at her own words, Ppoine backed away, back and back, until—"Ppoine, be careful!"—but it was too late, she'd lost her balance on the stairs and fell, bumping and sliding to the landing.

Gumi and Kaito made a mad dash for the little girl, but Gumi reached her first, gathered her in her arms and rocked her as she screamed, her lip bloody from banging against her teeth.

"It's alright, Ppoine. It's alright," she said. "For a moment there, you were flying, I saw it. You were really flying," she said softly, remember how Ppoine used to be amazed with planes and all of the kites that she made for her, the look of awe she had on her small face.

At last, Ppoine's sobs became quiet tears, and she snuggled her face into Gumi's shoulder, her little arms wrapped tightly over Gumi's neck, for fear that if she let go, she would leave her again.

"A-aunt Gumi?"

"Yes, Ppoine?"

"You can come home now," she whispered,"I made her go away."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>She was reckless, just like you Miki.<p>

After you learned to walk, you ran from room to room, shrieking and laughing. I told you to be careful, but you wouldn't stop. You would never stop until you tripped and fell or pinched your finger in a door, and then how you would scream and cry, as if you were the only one who had ever gotten hurt.

You were only four the first time you followed me through the winter woods. I was already halfway across the ice when I heard your voice.

"Gumi! Mi-Mi, wait! Wait!"

I turned and saw you, so ungainly in your layers of wool, the peak on your brown velvet cap drooping as you struggled toward me over the ice.

"Go away!" I shouted, my voice booming across the glassy lake. "Leave me alone!"

But you never cared what I said, did you? Not when you wanted your way. You scuffled on, your boots scratching along the snowy ice. I started back, all set to drag you home. Why should I share my island with you? But you reached me before I'd gone ten steps and you grabbed my leg with your mittened hands to steady yourself.

"Please take me with chu, Mi-Mi."

. . . I couldn't refuse you. The island was better, so much better, with two. Remember the little leanto we built out there? Remember our garden, our "crops"? You wanted cherries and I thought we should have carrots. We planted them both, remember?

And remember when you were queen? You made a crown out of honeysuckle. You painted your face with bloodroot. "Go to Menostown," you said to the dragonflies,"and bring me back some salt. . . What's a queen's name?" you asked me, your hair all draggled, your face dirty. "What should my name be, if I'm the queen?"

"Kiki," I replied. I only thought of it because it rhymed with your name, but you decided it was the prettiest name you'd ever heard. From then on, whenever we were on the island, you wanted me to call you Kiki, remember that? Queen Kiki. Do you remember?

We would wade out into the water and splash, and when it got too deep for you, you would cling to me, your little arms around my neck, your skinny legs hooked around my middle, weightless in the buoying water. I loved that, your holding tight that way, your needing me to hold you up. You felt safe with me. You knew that I would always take care of you.

But then, somehow, you began to drift away. Just a few inches at first—you would let go with your legs but keep your arms tight, or loosen your arms but keep your legs locked around me. I told you "no". I told you to hold on tight. But you wouldn't. You began to let go altogether, a moment here, a moment there, ducking underwater and then grabbing hold of me again, dashing the water from your eyes with one hand and coughing. But I scolded you. I held tight to your smooth, slippery skin.

"It's not safe," I told you. "You stay with me." I wouldn't let you swim away. I wouldn't let you go.

You should've listened to me, Miki, when I told you to go back. You should've left me alone. You and Ppoine with your wailing and your crying—letting the whole world know my business—why couldn't you let me go?

. . . Why did you let me go, Miki? I told you to hold on. I would never have let you go, but you made me. It was you. You made me do it. I'll never forgive you, not ever! Never!

W-wait, Miki—I'm not angry. Don't be scared—I won't scold you. I'm laughing, see? It's alright. I didn't mean it. You can come back now, Miki. You hear me?

Please come back.

* * *

><p>AN:

Ppoine's pretty clever, isn't she? Even though she's described as lazy and stuff, I'm pretty sure that she would do something extreme to try and win back what she wants, soooo. . . Gumi's back! I'm actually gonna miss Ring, I kinda liked her and I wanted to keep her there longer, but I don't want to go off course again or this story will just be ridiculously long again. OTL

And by the by, I wonder if any of you realized that Ring had a crush on Kaito. XD Iono, since they're not that close in relation, Ring probably thought it was perfect for her to get close to him. Besides, doesn't that explain why she seems to hate Miki, Gumi and Ppoine? She's just a jealous spinster~

Oh, and before any of you chew my head off for a name, Rion is her first name, Tone being her last. Some people (I post this on another site, too) say that I'm wrong and that's it Tone, but I'm going with what the official is. =w=" The same is what I've heard about Lapis. Apparently Aoki is her surname, not her given name. Iono, but the sooner the names get cleared up, the sooner I can go back and fix them pesky mistakes. I hate getting confused, but ever since Ring and Lui were given westernized order names or whatever, the whole thing's been loopy in almost every Thread, Post, website about them. I am so sorry that I'm an easily mislead kind of person. OTL

The last part of Gumi. . . You'll just have to wait to understand that. Or, you can feel free to determine what it means.

Well, please review! It takes me roughly two-three hours writing this on a notebook, since a good majority of it is on notebook, and another two hours typing it up, thirty minutes of that time used to read this over for spelling/grammar mistakes that I still miss. |D That, and it takes only about a minute or two to give me your opinion which I greatly value.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:

Another lengthy chapter for you all 'cause I lied about waiting for tomorrow. c:

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><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>All of that with Victor Yonné was water under the bridge, two months had gone by at least, by March 1919, when I went home to start over, to start fresh with Miki and her baby Ppoine. The trouble was I didn't feel much better at home than I'd felt working at the hospital, and after what had happened the last time I'd come home ill, I was cautious.<p>

"Better not get too close," I warned Miki the next morning, when I staggered in from the milking after losing my breakfast behind the barn. Still, there was no fever and now that I was away from the hospital I was sure I'd be able to shake it.

"It's nothing," I snapped, when on the third or fourth day Miki suggested I call Dr. Kasane. "I'm a nurse, aren't I? Don't you think I know?"

I'd bowed out of kitchen duty and stuck to outdoor chores, despite my promises that first night, because the thought of food made me queasy and the fresh air seemed to help. On Friday, Miki announced that she'd made me a treat.

"This'll bring your appetite back," she said, dramatically sweeping the platter of perch from the oven where she'd been keeping it warm.

Perch had always been one of my favorite dishes, but that evening I broke into a sweat and could barely make it outside in time.

"Aww, that's too bad," Miki said later, feeding me crackers and cheese. "But Artemis was pleased. He ate a whole fish." Then she giggled.

"What?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about the last time perch made me sick. It was back when I was carrying Ppoine. Poor Kaito. He swore he'd never go fishing again," she said with a faint smile.

But I couldn't smile, for Miki's words had caught me. After she'd left my room, I struggled to fling them off. I got up and paced. I threw open the window and thrust my head into the cold air, but the harder I tried to escape the more firmly the idea set in my brain. It was true all right.

I'd pretend otherwise. I'd told myself it was only worry or grief or loneliness that was making me dizzy and tired and sick. But I hardly needed to be a nurse to realize that something more solid than unhappiness was growing inside of me.

I tried to return to the way things were, but it was no use. Coming home couldn't change me back into the girl I'd once been. All I could think to do was run away again. I packed my bag and sat on the edge of my bed, one hand pressed against my abdomen, and thought about where I could go to get away from this thing.

There were places, I knew, where the sisters took you in until it was over, even if you weren't Catholic. I'd heard about another nurse going to one of those places and now I shuddered at the shame and scorn I'd felt for her, Leeds, her name was. Maybe that's what I'd call myself.

I'd go there. The sisters would teach me how to pray. Maybe I'd stay on afterwards, become a nun. But they probably didn't let you do that. Thinking that I could never become a nun, I started to cry. It was a silly thing to cry about. I didn't even want to become a nun! Still, I burrowed my head into the pillow and sobbed. Then I lay for a long time with my face on my, now wet, pillowcase. At least Mama and Papa wouldn't know, I thought. At least they were safe from my shame.

I drew my feet up on the bed without taking off my shoes. Downstairs, Miki was playing the piano and singing "Hello my baby. Hello, my honey. Hello, my ragtime girl." Now and then a discordant note rang out and I knew that Ppoine was on her lap, her little palms patting the keys, because I had sat on my mother's lap in just that way. I was so tired suddenly, so tried I decided that I could spend one more night at home. No one would know the truth. No one was likely to know it for months. I could afford a little sleep.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mama always went into the back room when she felt one of her spells coming on. She drew the curtains and lay on the daybed, turning her face to the wall and squeezing a pillow over her ears to drown the cicadas' hum and the birds' songs out. My father would close her door.<p>

"You see how it hurts her when you don't act right," he would say to me. "Now be good and quiet." And then he would leave the house to do his chores.

I tried to be good and quiet. I went up to my room and played with my doll or looked at my picture book, but after a while I always got scared, thinking of my mother in that dark room, all by herself, thinking that she might be crying, thinking that she might be dead, thinking that she might have gone away. So I crept downstairs and carefully, silently turned the knob and pushed open the door a crack, just to see, just to make sure. And of course, she was always there, her back to the room, her head buried.

Except the one time she wasn't there.

The daybed was empty. The blanket that usually covered her shoulders was crumpled on the floor. The room was small, but I ran across it and dropped to the floor to look under the furniture. No, she was gone.

I searched then, the bedrooms, the kitchen cupboards, the wardrobe, the panty. I asked the hired girl who was wringing out the clothes on the back porch. "Where's my mama, Keme?"

"She's gotta be somewhere. Maybe she went to town?"

Keme didn't know Mama the way I did. Mama wouldn't go to town sick. She wouldn't go without telling me.

I tried to open the trapdoor that led to the attic. I thought of how goblins and witches might have snatched her away. I thought of how she could be calling to me, frightened, her arms stretching for me from a place I couldn't see. I thought finally of a likely place, the outhouse. But she wasn't there either. I walked through the barn, calling her, checking all the stalls.

Finally , running back to the house, I noticed that the cellar door was open. I stepped slowly down into the damp darkness, keeping my shoulder tight against eh wall so I wouldn't pitch off the open side of the stairs. At the bottom, I found her, sitting on the dirt floor, her forehead pressed against the sweating stone.

She turned to me then, her face strangely white in the dimness. But she wasn't my mother. She mocked me. "Mama! Mama!" she said, making fun of the way I'd been calling her. Then she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Please. Keep that intolerable child quiet," she begged.

I didn't know what child she meant. It wasn't until years later that I realized that she meant me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>When I woke the next morning, I knew where I wanted to run to, a place where no one need ever know, no one except Miki.<p>

I was still dressed form the night before, still wearing my shoes, in fact, and I clomped downstairs and built a fire in the stove. I began to make French toast, turning my face away when it came time to crack the sickening egg. Miki loved French toast.

"Better?" she yawned, sinking into her chair at the table. Miki was always slow to wake.

"Much." I flipped the toast. I did feel better and for a moment I allowed myself to hope that I might have been wrong in my thinking the night before. But then I saw the remains of the perch in the cat's bowl and gagged.

"Listen, Miki," I said, sitting beside her and pushing the sugar bowl away, so that I could lean close. "I was thinking we might want to move to the island for the summer, you and me and Ppoine. The fields are rented anyway. Al can take care of the animals. Why should we stay?" When she didn't answer, I pressed on. "It'll be fun! Like taking a trip. Just you and me and Ppoine."

"Oh no, no, no, Gumi. It's too cold." She cut the corner off of her toast.

"No, it's not. Or at least it'll only be cold for a few more weeks. It's already April. And think how easy it'll be to move things over on the ice."

"On the ice! Gumi, what are you thinking? The ice must be rotten now. We'll go right through."

"No, we won't. The spring's been so cold. I'm sure it's good. I'd check it first, of course. I'd make sure." _And if I went through, well, so much for the better_, I thought bitterly. Better me than my sister and her daughter.

"Gu-chan, you have no idea how bleak and cold that island is this time of year. It's all right for an hour in the afternoon, when you want a place to skate to, but not to live on day after day, night after night. You forget, I've done it. I know what it's like. I thought I'd go crazy some of those days."

"That's right, you have done it, haven't you? You've had a chance. Where's my chance, I'd like to know? Who was it that found that island, hm? You and Kaito would never have had such a cozy little spot if it hadn't been for me."

As much as I despised exploiting my sister's weakness, I worked every angle while Miki chewed nervously on the ends of her hair. It was difficult to change her mind, but I knew I could do it if I tried hard enough. I was the elder, after all. I know better.

Big Al didn't like it either.

"You two girls out there alone," he clucked, shaking his head. "No good."

"But there'll be three of us." I teased. I knew how to handle Al. "We'll have little Ppoine." I chose not to remind him that I. for one, could hardly be called a girl anymore.

This time, though, he frowned. "You know what I mean, Gumi. You could freeze—it's not all that warm yet. You could burn the house down."

"We could do those things here, too, Al," Miki said. Although I'd barely convinced her to go along with my plan, this new attitude didn't surprise me. Miki was always more inclined to do something when you argued for the opposite.

I reminded him that one of us would check in every few days and if he was worried, then all he needed to do was come out for a visit. I was pretty sure he'd never do this. Big Al was the wait-and-see type. Flames would have been shooting from the island before he'd decide he'd better have a look. Oh, I knew everyone so well. Everyone except myself and now this other one I carried in me.

"We'll wave every day at noon," Miki had promised.

It took us only two days to organize ourselves, to pack and arrange with the grocer and the butcher to deliver food to the locker on our tiny beach as soon as the ice was out. We'd go to the farm, at least Miki would, for butter and eggs and milk. And soon we'd plant our own vegetables.

Al kept bringing more things in from the barn and adding them to the pile—lanterns, wrenches and oil. "This'll come in handy. You'll see."

And Miki kept piling on the books. "Just three more," she pleaded when I claimed the sled was getting too heavy.

We were forgetting essential items, but we were only going a mile—it would always be easy to come back. At least it would be easy for Miki.

And so it was easy for her to go. It was a game to her, hardly different from when we were young and went to the island for relief from our real lives at home. But for me it was serious. I would be different when I came back. If I ever did come back.

We set off in the morning, so as to take as much advantage of the light as we could. The sky was gray, the snow old and frozen hard. It was the kind of day that makes you fear that God, distracted by finer things, has forgotten you. But Ppoine had no such worry. She went before the sled, carrying an icicle like a torch, pushing her feet purposely into the crunching snow, and announcing herself to the world in high-pitched, dissonant notes.

"Wait a minute," I said when we got to the edge of the lake. "I have to test the ice." I put my hand on Miki's sleeve to hold her back from stopping me.

It had been a cold March, but still it was late in the season, and there had been days of thaw—Miki had been right to worry about the state of the ice. I scanned the center of the lake for the telltale dark streaks of open water. All was flat and white. I climbed over the heave at the shoreline and shuffled forward slowly, barely lifting my feet. The surface was ugly, grainy, made of snow that had melted to slush and then refrozen in the recent snap.

I raised one foot high and stamped. The lake didn't protest. No groans or squeaks, no terrifying crack. I made my way forward over deeper water, walking heavily now, bouncing to bring the full force of my weight down on the ice. I imagined falling through, me and the other one, sinking though that cold water to the bottom.

"Wait, Aunt Gumi! Wait for us!" Ppoine's voice piped from the shore.

I turned and waved to them. Miki stood small and still, wrapped in a hooded maroon cloak that had belonged to our mother. It made me shiver to think how loyal she was, ready to do what I asked, trusting it would be all right as long as I said so. Ppoine, brilliant in her bright read coat, was pulling hard on her mother's mittened hand, letting her head and shoulders hang precariously over the ground,. She knew her mother would never let her go.

I didn't think, then, that my baby could be like that someday. I didn't think, really, about my baby at all. I concentrated solely on getting us to the island. It seemed the only thing that I could do. We set Ppoine on the sled, and Miki balanced her and the load while I pulled. The closer we got to the island, the smoother the ice became, until finally the sled began to overtake me. I stopped pulling and grabbed onto the side opposite Miki and we let it drag us bother forward almost more quickly than we could find our footing. I nearly fell, and then Miki almost went down and then I again, while we whizzed along, slipping and laughing, all three just children out for an afternoon's slide.

The island was ringed with a a jagged collar the ice had pushed up in its aggressive expansion, as if it were trying to climb onto the land. We had to circle twice before finding a spot low and gently pitched enough for Miki to scramble over and help Ppoine and me after her. We left our sled of supplies on the ice and went to see how the house had fared closed up for so long. The house, painted a soft grey with green trim, looked in the summer as if it had grown there, but in winter it stood out among the bare black trees. We opened the door to musty wood and chilly motionless air. _Maybe Al was right_, I thought. Maybe we couldn't live here, two women all alone.

"We'll have to get this going first thing!" Miki chimed, opening the door of the wood stove.

Miki and Kaito had lived just fine on the island in the cold, I reminded myself. Miki knew what she was doing. We would get through this last little bit of wintry weather, and then it would be spring.

"I'll get some wood," I said.

Crossing my arms over my tender breasts, I stood for a moment on the porch steps, surveying the vast, flat whiteness that was the lake and the crosshatched black that marked the shoreline. Through the trees, I could see the roof of the Vista's barn. In an hour or two, people would be lighting their lamps and their windows would shine among the trees like eyes, staring at us, exposed here on the ice. Maybe there was no hiding here. Maybe this place was a mistake.

_But by summer_, I assured myself, piling wood into the curve of my arm, _it would be different. By summer the island would be shrouded in leaves, and I could keep my business to myself with no one the wiser._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ppoine<em>**

* * *

><p>Aunt Gumi had a mouth at the bottom of her thumb.<p>

"What's this?" I asked her. My fingers petted the white circle on her tan skin.

We were sitting in the big green chair, me squeezed between the arm and her, because that is how we liked to sit.

"This is from your mama," Aunt Gumi said. "She gave this to me so that I would remember to listen to her."

"Really?" I had asked. "What does she say?"

" 'Never leave my little Ppoine'. That's what she says. 'Never leave my little Ppoine'."

Aunt Gumi didn't mind my mama. She did leave me.

But then she came back to me.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

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><p>One morning in May, when Gumi had been home from St. Anzu's for about a month, and the sun was dewing the grass outside in a way that promised summer, Kaito and Ppoine sat at the kitchen table waiting for their breakfasts.<p>

"One of these nice days, Ppoine," Kaito started,"I'll take you out to the island, where you and I lived with your mam. How would you like that?"

"No," Gumi said sternly. She slapped the pan of eggs she'd been about to bring to the table back on the stove. "This darn hotpad. Burned right through it."

Kaito looked up at her, surprised. "What?"

"She wouldn't like it. Ppoine doesn't like the water."

"Yes she does. You like the water, don't you Ppoine?"

Ppoine looked from her father to her Aunt and wasn't sure what would be right to say, so she said nothing.

"I want you to close that place," Gumi ordered, her hands on her hips. "Board it up. Nail it shut and forget about it. I can't believe you'd want to take Ppoine there, after. . . well, after everything. What's the matter with you?"

Kaito looked at his empty plate. Maybe there was something the matter with him, for he wanted Ppoine to see the place where she'd begun. It bothered him that Gumi had managed to wipe Miki from Ppoine's life. As far as he knew, she told the child nothing about what had happened before his return, nor would she let him speak of the time before he'd left.

"It'll only make her sad," she'd told him. "She's lucky she was too young to remember."

He agreed with Gumi in principle. What good would it do to Ppoine to know that her mother could swim like a sunfish and liked her bacon crisp? What difference would it make to her to hear about the day Miki had braided her a crown of black-eyed Susans and chicory? But still, he wanted her to know, for Miki's sake. She had to know that she had a mother that had loved her. Gumi could let Miki disappear, as if she'd never existed, but he couldn't.

He waited for a Tuesday, Gumi's day to go to town, and he told himself he was only doing what she'd asked. He was boarding the place up, wasn't he? And he couldn't leave Ppoine at home all alone by herself.

He found her under the lilacs, the cat's tail slipping though her hands, and he scooped her up from behind and hoisted her into the air.

"You're coming with me today, little Lady." He said after she had finished squealing from the surprise he gave her. He kissed her neck, smelling her young skin smell. She, suddenly tall enough among the flowers, lifted her face to the fragrant purple.

"Where, Papa?"

"You'll see."

He set her down, picked up his toolbox and led her along the lilac hedge to the back of the yard, where he held the leafy branches open and motioned for her to step first onto the path into the woods.

"For a walk?" She asked, used to traveling this path with Gumi.

"You'll see."

The trail was narrow, and she scampered ahead like a rabbit, squatting before a lavender hepatica on the right, scaring a scarlet tanager from its perch on the left, drifting back to the right to peel off a white curl of birch bark. Kaito limped, tried to stretch and flex his had leg. He passed her, as she knelt before a patch of moss and stroked its spores with her palms. He rounded a bend and she ran to overtake him. At the giant oak where she and Gumi always turned back, she stopped and waited. He took her hand and they proceeded, she more circumspect, somewhat awed, although there was little difference between the part of the woods they now walked in and the part through which they'd just passed.

He sensed her holding back, her strides shortening and slowing until, finally, her shoulder was skewed, and he was nearly dragging her forward.

"What's the matter, Ppoine?" They stopped, still several yards from the shore, and he squatted to look into her face. "It's alright. It's just water. Like a bath, a giant bathtub."

But she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, as if he were trying to force her to swallow medicine.

Helplessly, Kaito looked east along the shoreline. "We need to wait for Mr. Akita, anyway."

When he released her hand, she stood firm and even looked up, studying the water, a good sign. Encouraged, he sat on the ground, pulled off his boots and rolled up his pant legs.

"Well, I'm going in."

He picked his way gingerly forward, the sharp stones and the cool water shocking his soft white feet. When the water reached to his rolled cuff, he turned carefully, grappling for footing on the cruising rocks. He looked back at her across the narrow span of water. She stood small and scared, the weeds nearly up to her waist. Looking at her that way, he saw for the first time, in her wide mouth, in the hint of the plan that would her her finished cheek, in the angle of her ears, not Miki's face, as before, but his owns.

It was a shock, that recognition. How could he not have seen it earlier? He felt a surge of connection with Ppoine that could have been nothing other than love, and he wanted to pick her up and lock her fiercely against his chest. But at the same time, seeing how small she and scared she was, how utterly helpless and alone, he also felt something else. He looked at her for a moment or two longer before walking back towards her and stretched out his hand.

"Come on, Ppoine. Want me to show you what your Mama and I used to do?"

She flinched when she heard him talk and furiously shook her head when she heard what he asked. He gave her a sympathetic smile before heading back into the water. For some odd reason, he dipped his hand into the water—the water that was after all not like a bath, but cold and vast, uncontainable—dip his hand deeply, nearly up to his elbow, and then raise his arm and flick the water from his fingertips toward her. The spray was gentle, so light really and at such a distance that it couldn't possibly have hit her, not a single drop, and he smiled quickly, to show her that he was playing around with her.

Still, she began to cry. He hurried towards her, wincing at the stones as he tried his best to limp as fast as he could to her. "It's all right," he said and knelt down beside her, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm sorry for scaring you, it's all my fault. It's all right, I'm sorry Ppoine."

Nero Akita's boat scraped against the rocks and he climbed out, popping his heavy shoes into the water but then hung back, awkwardly. "Did she fall? Did she hurt herself?"

"No, no, she's fine. She's all right, she's just a little scared."

"Maybe you should take her home?"

"No, she'll be all right. You'll be fine, won't you Ppoine?"

Ppoine had stopped crying, and though she seemed to be looking at Nero, she was, in fact , looking beyond him, at his boat. Kaito got to his feet and the men shook hands.

"Thanks for coming out, Nero."

Nero nodded. He never knew how to respond to the thanks people were always pressing on him. He winked at Ppoine. "She's growing like a weed," he said, knowing that was what he was supposed to say about little children. "And Gumi?" He added, looking back at Kaito. "She's all right now, is she? I've heard. . ." He glanced down at his feet for a moment, started afresh. "Well, she's doing fine, is she?"

"She's doing fine, Nero. Come by for dinner this noon and see for yourself."

"I might do that. If you think it's all right. I mean, if you think she wouldn't mind."

"I'm sure she'd be happy to see you," Kaito said absently, brushing the mud from his pants before giving the smaller man a smile.

Ppoine sat in the very center of the boat and kept her face toward the land.

"I saved Gumi's hat right about here once," Nero said as he pulled on the oars. "A straw one with an orange ribbon. Does she still have that, I wonder?" But he looked over his shoulder then at the island, not wanting Kaito to answer, embarrassed that he even remembered such a thing. Kaito, staring out across the water, thinking private thoughts, said nothing.

* * *

><p>AN:

Yeah, just a bit of Kaito and Ppoine that I wanted to put in there. I thought that maybe they weren't spending much time with each other and that I really wanted to dip into their relationship further. For some reason, even though he is there, he almost still acts as if though he's absent and doesn't do much her, despite being his daughter. So yeah, I kinda wanted to put this there since there's already quite a bit about Gumi's and Ppoine's relationship. Guess this chapter didn't really follow what I had wanted, but it felt right, regardless.

Oh, and I wonder how many of you remembered that Nero was the man that caused Gumi a lot of problems because they were together before she went to work as a nurse? I kind of wanted to also explain a bit about him and her, but not much of it , sorry. I think I put too much plot into this story. . . But I kind of just want to let the characters have some kind of interaction with each other which is why I went ahead and did it.

So, what're you thoughts on this? c:


	9. Chapter 9

Long before there was a house on the island, Miki had brought Kaito there.

"This is it," she'd announced.

He held one oar clumsily out of the water and puzzled over how he was supposed to get both unwieldly things into the boat. He had insisted on being the one to row, though she was an expert, and he could hardly keep the boat from spinning. He glanced at her, not sure whether he hoped she would offer advice or pay no attention to his struggles. She was perched on the gunwale, a precarious place. He was about to say,"Look out, be careful," when she threw her head back and before he could shout, almost before he could open his mouth, she lost her balance and fell backward into the water. Gone.

He dropped the oars and scrambled forward to the spot where she'd gone in. The water showed no signs of her. Not a ripple nor a bubble. That was what scared him and, even though he didn't know how to swim, he threw himself off of the boat and dove in. When the cold water reached the sensitive skin of his stomach, he gasped her name out and struggled to swim over the area she was at.

And then he heard a voice. "Kaito!"

He heard her voice, but she wasn't there. "Kaito! Over here!"

It was coming from behind him. Somehow she'd got all the way to the other side of the boat without his knowing. Her head, with her hair pushed down around it, was sleek as a muskrat's. The water rippled around her shoulders, but she was clearly standing on the bottom. She laughed at him, laughed at the fear on his face.

"Here I am, Kaito. Did you think I'd drowned?"

All Kaito could think, once he knew she was safe, once it was clear that it had been just a joke, was that she must have been testing him and felt as if though he had accomplished it. She stopped laughing when she saw the way his mouth was set in a firm frown as he pushed his way towards her.

Frightened that she had actually upset him, she started wadding away until she gasped when she saw his shocked look when he sunk in.

"Kaito!"

She swam over to his spot with fervor, knowing full well that he wasn't a swimmer and felt the fear swell up in her chest. "Kaito! Kaito, where are you?" she cried, her voice full of worry and fear. Though it didn't last long when she felt something wrap itself around her ankle and forced her under the water's surface.

After kicking and thrashing, she managed to break free and noticed the shock of blue hair that was bobbing in the water. The next thing she knew, he pushed himself up and gave her a coy grin. "Did you you think I'd drown?" he asked in a teasing voice. Miki pouted and splashed him as hard as she could, which meant not much, and pushed away from him with a small smile playing on her lips. He understood that she forgave him for his joke.

He ducked low in the water before throwing his body at her again while saying,"I'll get you! I'll get you!"

It was an awkward chase. Their feet slipped on the rocks, the water held them back. Still, he was stronger, faster. He did catch her, first a bit of her sleeve, then her whole arm. She spun around to face him and for one confused instant he had no idea what to do with her now that he had her. But she knew. She tilted her face invitingly and he smiled. He kissed her.

She'd led him on a merry chase, Kaito thought fondly. She'd gone out for an evening with him and then danced too often with other fellows; she'd broken dates at the last minute with no excuses, she'd provoked arguments and cried and declared that she never wanted to see him again.

But he'd caught her at last.

One fall night, when the air was cold and sharp, the words just slipped out of him, as if they'd been summoned by something beyond his will:

"Marry me."

And what had she said? He couldn't remember exactly. She had tackled him down to the ground and rolled the both of them onto the grass, laughing at her show of acceptance. She probably said it, probably didn't say it. But he knew her answer, either way, because soon enough they were married.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>Nero feathered the oars when they reached the island so that the boat bumped very gently against the rocks, and then Ppoine was lifted again, swung through the air, and set on her feet on the dry land, a different land entirely. At a little distance, among the thick trees and weeds, stood a grey and green house.<p>

"There should be some lumber back behind the outhouse," Kaito said, taking Ppoine's hand and leading the way up the overgrown path. He stopped, though, a few feet back from the front steps. "Should we take a quick look inside?" He seemed to be asking the house itself.

Nero yawned. What Kaito ought to do was sell that place and concentrate on what he had that was good. But everyone was a fool about something. "Sure, whatever you want."

Kaito flexed his knees and stomped once or twice on each of the steps up to the porch. The house's solidness pleased him, since he'd built most of it himself. But then, he thought, why shouldn't the place be in good shape? It was only five years old.

He'd thought he and Miki would go to Rhoe, or maybe even Tossen, and as long as his plans were vague, she'd been enthusiastic. When he realized that in fact she couldn't stand the idea of moving away, they were already married, and he accepted her father's offer to pay for the materials for a cabin on the island. He was surprised now at how small the place seemed, almost as if it were a scaled-down model of the house he'd known so intimately.

In the kitchen Kaito peered into the cupboards at the familiar china—whit with green markings painted at the rims, another gift from her parents. They'd moved in as soon as one room was habitable and there'd been so much happy momentum at first. He'd work for her father on the farm, rowing over every morning at dawn.

For a while, Miki went with him to help her mother, but then she began to stay at the island to work on their home alone, accomplishing much more than he expected, even during the month or so when she always seemed to be sick. She cleared brush, drew plans for more rooms, painted the porch ceiling pale blue. In the evening he brought Len or Gakupo and Big Al or a couple of the other hired men, and they gloated the lumber along behind them on a raft and added the bedrooms and a real kitchen.

Just as it was growing too dark to see, they would hear a shout from the pier and would drop their tools and hurry down to help Gumi with her baskets of cold chicken and potato salad and pickles and rhubarb pie. Often Rin, Len's wife, would come along and it was like a party, every night a party with Kaito and Miki at their house on their island right in the middle of it all.

But in September the life of the place drifted away. Gumi went off to Menostown to go to nursing school. The fishermen and boaters dwindled, too, when the temperature dropped and the lake lay quiet under the brittle autumn air. The leaves fell, and in ever direction the water and the land beyond seemed more vast, and Kaito and Miki, left to themselves in the center of it, more tiny and alone.

* * *

><p>~ . . . ~<p>

* * *

><p>The warped drawer Nero had been pulling on came open with a crack.<p>

"Hey, pencils," he said. "We could use a couple of these if we need to cut down some of that wood."

"Sure, take 'em."

Nero left the drawer open and Kaito glanced into it. Among the pencil stubs and paper scraps and the odd things and screws and spools, he saw a slim silver penknife. Where had Miki gotten that? He plucked it out, slipped it into his pocket, and followed Nero outside.

Kaito hadn't built shutters, so he and Nero had to improvise with the lumber stacked behind the outhouse. It was simple work really. They measured a window, cut pieces to fit against the sill and the top of the window frame, then more pieces to span the height of the window, and nailed them together.

"Must have been cozy living in here," Nero commented, holding a finished cover over one of the row of windows that ran the length of the enclosed porch, so that Kaito could nail it in place.

"Cozy? Sure I guess." Kaito swung his hammer steadily. Thinking back, he supposed it had been cozy. On that island, he and Miki had had some sort of honeymoon that went on and on for months. That was what Kaito remembered—how happily they'd clung to one another, before the war. That was the story he told himself now on the nights when he couldn't sleep.

At the time, though, he'd felt a little afraid when he and Miki were there all alone. He loved her, of course, he never doubted that, but nevertheless he felt almost as if—well, this was strange—but almost as if he'd been taken prisoner. He knew it didn't make sense, especially since he actually left the island every day. It was Miki who was trapped if anyone was, but she didn't seem to mind. The canoe was always there for her, but she seldom used it.

Most evening she was waiting for him on the little pier when he rowed home and wrapped herself around him almost before he was completely out of the boat. More than once she nearly pulled both of them into the water with her exuberant embrace.

She told him in exhausting detail about every moment of her day, every shrub she'd cleared, every rooster she'd stenciled on the kitchen wall, every stray thought that had occurred to her throughout the day. She sang and danced. One day she decided yellow would be best for the baby's room, the next she decided blue, the next week it was yellow again, then the week after that it was a robin's egg blue, definitely robin's egg blue. She told him that the lake wasn't as cold as one might think and wasn't it funny how she'd hated school as a child and why shouldn't a woman vote if she wanted to, and hadn't the sunset been gorgeous, just gorgeous? And she would laugh at herself and at his confusion and at her own complete happiness, and he would laugh too, glad that she was happy, but not at all sure of it, not at all certain that they were on firm ground.

Because at other times the house was dark and still, the curtains drawn, when he docked the rowboat. He found her sitting on the porch in the darkness, sucking on a strand of hair, or curled in the bed, her eyes swollen from crying. Sometimes she was terrified about the baby. What if it died? What if it came out wrong and they wouldn't be able to love it because of that, no matter how shallow that fear was and how precious it turns out to be? What if it was a monster?

Or she was convinced the water was rising, the wind would carry her away because she was so small, a little sprite like her mother, the lightning would strike him down in the fields. Or she had merely burned the supper. She always told him that she was no good a wife, that she would be a horrible mother, that he should have never married her and that he deserved someone much better than her.

"My pretty mockingbird," he said, sitting beside her on the bed. "Don't worry, everything will be all right."

"You don't know that," she said scornfully.

And, of course, she was right. But in Kaito's experience, it was what people said when they didn't know what else to do. But while he was frying potatoes and eggs she would appear at the kitchen table, her bathrobe fastened with a bow around her thickening waist, and gradually her euphoria would return, until once again she was regaling him with stories of the spelling bees she'd won and the afternoons that she and Gumi had stolen away from their chores to this very island together.

She laid his hand against her swelling belly, so that he could feel how tight her skin was growing, how well the baby was developing. She talked on and on about her plans, about all the children they would have—she hoped to have four, seven at most—how the farm would prosper with his help, how they would buy more land and more cows, how they would build a second story onto their island house.

Increasingly, though, he found it difficult to listen to her describe the myriad ways in which she was nailing them to the spot, to this course of life. He had become convinced that he didn't like farming much, and he wasn't good at it. At least that was what his father in-law made clear every time he turned away in disgust or stepped in with a sigh to take over a job that he thought Kaito was performing awkwardly or not quickly enough.

One night Kaito told Miki how her father had shoved him so hard he when he was filing one of Josephine's hoofs that he'd sprawled onto the barn floor under the horse.

"You've got to be gentle with her," Mr. Hirrone had grunted, easing his hand along the horse's foreleg until she lifted her foot again. He gripped the hoof between his knees. "She's not a slab of beef, you know."

Miki turned away from him, reaching for one of her books she kept piled near their bed. "You have to understand," she said. "He's had Josie all her life. He knows what's best for her." The hand she put on his shoulder then to comfort him, stung. "There's a lot you could learn from him, you know, if you give him a chance."

But Kaito knew that her father wasn't trying to teach him about horses.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Kaito and Nero finished covering the porch windows and started down the south side of the house. Nero talked off ad on about the Almanac's predictions for the summer's weather, about the new variety of cow corn he'd planted, about the way the fish seemed have moved from the west side of Serenada's Bay to the east that spring.<p>

* * *

><p>By February, the tiny girl Kaito had married was transformed into a woman whose every footfall pounded through the house. She bossed him, demanded that he rearrange the furniture, repair a window frame that allowed a draft, sand a rough spot on the floorboards. Every morning she gave him a list of things to bring back from the farmhouse or from town: blankets and pillows, soap and crackers, knitting needles of various sizes, rugs and books and bottles and wood and wood and wood, always more wood for the stove until she'd built a stockpile big enough to last three years. He pulled the stuff in a sled over the ice, which looked, under a glass of snow, as soft and black as the skin of a plum.<p>

There was very little work to do on the farm. In the mornings, Kaito cut the ice on Serenada's Bay and dragged it up Tessa Road to the ice house. On clear afternoons, Miki wanted to skate.

"It won't be this perfect again for years," she'd said. "I can't let a chance like this go by."

And then he'd protested that she could risk falling because of the baby. She scoffed. "I'm not going to fall, Kaito. I know what I'm doing."

He hadn't known how to stop her and, after all, she turned out to be right. She skated carefully, easing her ungainly weight from one leg to the other. He could see why she liked it—on the ice, she could move as gracefully as ever. And if, occasionally, she needed to grip his arm to steady herself, well, he was there, wasn't he? He'd make sure nothing happened to her.

But later, he hadn't been there. Kaito remembered Gumi's impatient words: "She probably thought it was a fine night for skating and fell through. That would be just like her."

Maybe it was true. Maybe Miki had been reckless, had gone out skating late in the night because she couldn't sleep and the ice seemed perfect. Maybe that was the end of the story and there was nothing to blame but the treacherous ice.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>Ppoine had arrived with the slush of spring.<p>

She was light, buoyant even, and yet when the midwife first shifted the tiny bundle in his arms, he felt as if though he might drop her, so heavy was she with helplessness, with the need to be protected at all costs. He knew he could not let her fall, ever, in any way. He braced himself proudly to bear that enormous weight but the moment she opened her, then, rose colored eyes, he felt the first gentle bite of doubt. He was so overcome with weakness in his arms, and such a weakness in his legs, that he had to sit down.

Miki was always asking him to feed the stove. The windows must not be opened. The door must be shut promptly. The house was stifling. He felt sorry for the baby, swaddled so tightly in all of those blankets, only her pink face showing. What if she was frightened? What if she was too hot? How would they know?

One night in the third week of Ppoine's life, Miki didn't awaken when the baby began to cry. Kaito edged out of the bed, happy to let his exhausted wife sleep. He lifted his daughter from her bed and for a minute or so, she quietly gummed his shoulder. When she began to whimper, he carried her out to the bedroom and into the front room, his feet freezing on the cold floorboards. He sat and rocked her as her whimpers turned to cries, stood and swayed with her as her cries became howls. He swooped her up and down, his hand firmly cradling her soft skull and weak neck. He jiggled her very gently and danced with her and held her tight against his neck and still she cried, screamed to the limit of every breath as if there nothing in her but anguish.

"Kaito? What are you doing to her? You look as if though you could use my help." Miki said with a faint smile while she set her candle on the table, rubbing her eyes after doing so, before plucking Ppoine from his arms. She sat down in a chair and put her on her breast. The baby didn't stop crying instantly, but soon enough, and Kaito was relieved, although also a little angry with her. Was that all Ppoine cared about? Something that he couldn't give her? Disgusted with himself for resenting an infant over something that he could never do for her, he solicitously wrapped a blanket around his wife's shoulders and settled a pillow under her elbow.

"You were just hungry, weren't you?" Miki crooned to her baby's feathery scalp. "Daddy didn't understand."

Just as he was about to make his way back to their room, to sleep alone in the bed, he heard her speak up again. "Where are you going? You seem wide awake now."

He turned back to her and shrugged. "You two don't need me or anything, so—"

"Nonsense!" she said with a smile.

He raised a suspicious brow. What was she aiming for? "Why's that?"

"Because you don't spend that much time with Ppoine, always going off and about at the farm or in town. Why not stay here for another hour with us?" she asked.

Despite the fact that he wanted to sigh at her request, he instead smiled, knowing that it would be pointless for him to go against her and picked up another chair and sat next to her, on her left. Who knew how much time they actually did spend, awake with only the candlelight illuminating the small room, occasional visits to the stove to keep the heat going, while he spoke to the two and watched as Ppoine settle back to sleep in his arms when she had finished. Up until the sun's rays spilled through the window curtains, it was just the three of them; mother, father, and daughter.

* * *

><p>~ . . . ~<p>

* * *

><p>Kaito drove more nails in, sealed the top of the shutter, then the bottom. Shadows of round young leaves splattered against the sunny wall. Three sides of the house were closed. The job was nearly finished.<p>

Here, now, with the cozy house before him, the memory of this wife and baby girl snug inside, he was ashamed of his once fierce desperation to show Miki he did not belong to he, bot the way she thought. She might have her island, her house, her father's farm, her child, but she didn't have him. Even so, he would never have thought of really leaving her, but going to wary wasn't leaving. A man was supposed to be a soldier, a man was supposed to do his duty. And then when he returned, her father would have to stop shaking his head, and things would be different. She would. . . what? She would what? What did he want from her?

She had screamed and fallen to the ground when he told her he'd not taken his exemption for dependents.

"You've denied Ppoine?" she screamed. "You've denied me?"

No, he hadn't done that, had he? That wasn't what he'd meant. He'd only meant to not make excuses, not to weasel out like a coward. It wasn't as if Miki and Ppoine truly depended on him.

She'd ordered him to go back, to tell them it had been a mistake. She had pounded the floor with her fist in an agony of emotion; she had sworn that he would die, that she would die without him. Then she'd told him coldly that he would be sorry. Then she'd announced that she and Ppoine would go along, would stay outside his camp, would take a steamer all the way to France. And then she had simply cried.

He was sorry, but also relieved. He wanted to take it back and tell her that she had no reason to cry, but he also felt calm in the knowledge that it was too late. There was nothing he could do. All he could offer her was: "I'll be back. You'll see. I'll be back before you know it." He tried to raise her face to kiss her, but she jerked her face away from him.

"I may not be here then," she seethed, looking at him with hatred.

Kaito's hammer slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. Until this very moment, he'd forgotten those words. But she hadn't meant them. He knew that. She'd only said them in anger. He bent to retrieve the hammer and wiped the dirt off of the claw. He pounded five nails into the cover Nero was holding over the last window in the final wall.

* * *

><p>~ . . . ~<p>

* * *

><p>"Mama!" The scream was coming from inside the house, now completely boarded shut.<p>

"Ppoine!" _How had I forgotten her?_ Kaito thought, running for the door. Nero began to pry open the cover he had just nailed in place.

"Here I am, Ppoine!" Kaito threw the door open and a swatch of sunlight ran down the middle of the dark house. "Here I am!"

He found her, finally, under the bed in the back room that had been his and Miki's. "It's all right, sweetheart. Everything's all right." he said. "We didn't know you were in here. That's all. Don't worry, everything will be all right, we're sorry."

Unlike Miki, Ppoine believed those words and let him comfort her, as he walked through the dim house, checking window locks and closing doors. Back outside, he gently pried her arms loose and lowered her to the ground. In one hand she clutched a green sack, cinched with a leather thong.

"Where did you get this?"

Miki had snatched the bag when he'd brought it home for Ppoine. "Marbles for a baby? Kaito, she could choke on these!"

The thought horrified him and she softened when she saw the look on his face. "It's all right, Kaito. We'll save them for her. She'll love them when she gets older." And she added—he remembered this now with a pang for her kindness—"I always loved marbles. Ppoine's a lucky girl."

Then she tied the thong extra tight and deposited the sack in the bottom of the toy chest.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>Nero, Kaito, and Ppoine came quietly up the path to the farmhouse, but before they reached the door the screen snapped open and smacked against the wall. Gumi stalked across the porch, grabbed Ppoine by the shoulders and drew her against her skirts.<p>

"Hello, Nero," she said, nodding curtly at him. "You'll stay to dinner, won't you?" Without waiting for his answer, she looked down at Ppoine and shook her lightly. "Where have you been? You're a mess." She didn't look at Kaito. She slid the ribbons from the ends of the child's braids, raked her fingers through her hair and then began to rebraid tightly.

"We went to the water—ouch, it hurts—and it got dark."

"Run along now and show Mr. Akita where to wash up for dinner," Gumi told he and gave her a little push between the shoulder blades toward the house.

The voices rose over the squeaking of the pump handle and the rush of water in the sink.

". . .the lake! To the lake! How could you do such a thing?"

"What's wrong with taking her there? That's what I'd like to know. For crying out loud, she was born there!"

"You have no right to go there now."

"What do you mean I have no right? It's my house, isn't it?"

"You wouldn't know anything about it, Kaito. You weren't there. You left her!"

"Oh that again. . ."

"Yes, that again. If you hadn't left your wife and child, Miki would have never di—"

Ppoine stood in one corner of the doorway, pressed against the screen.

"Hey Ppoine, where'd this come from?" Nero lifted the sack Ppoine had dropped into the toolbox. "Do you know what I think is in here, Ppoine?" He tossed the sack up and down, catching it in one hand. "I think these are marbles. How about you and me play a game of marbles before dinner? C'mon."

When she didn't move, he went to her, peeled her gently off the screen and drew her into the room. "Do you know how to play marbles, Ppoine?" She shook her head. "Here,I'll show you."

She was interested in the colors of the little clay and glass balls ad in their cool smoothness. She wanted to study them, to line them up, maybe to watch them roll, to rub them between er palms, but she tired to hold her fingers the way he showed her, tried to bend her thumb right. Finally he let her just roll them, aim and roll them, so that sometimes they knocked against each other with a satisfying _click_.

* * *

><p>Ppoine<p>

* * *

><p>We walked where Aunt Gumi and I always walk, and then when it came time for let's turn around, better get home, go to get the supper on the table, we didn't stop. We kept going where I didn't know where the path went and then here were blue spaces between the trunks and under the branches, and then in the water. I remembered the water, a sky on the ground, where you fall and fall and fall and fall. . . .<p>

We were at heaven and I was afraid, because that's where you go when you die.

The water was lumpy, with ripply skin. We went on it in a boat and the shore didn't look anything like the place where we had been standing, even though I knew we had been standing right there.

And then the boat bumped on another shore.

"Do you remember this, Ppoine?" he asked. "We lived here when you were a tiny baby, Mama and you and I."

"I can't remember when I was a baby," I told him. "I think I was a good baby. I think I didn't cry."

He smiled and then laughed. "All babies cry, Ppoine."

"No, I didn't."

I knew the smell inside the house: wet wood and mittens and the green smell of the water. It was the smell where my mama was.

I looked for her. I looked in the secret spaces, under the red blanket, under the beds an in drawers, where her smell was so strong, I thought she must be standing behind me, but she wasn't. I found a mouse house made of scarf and paper but I didn't fin her, Still I knew Aunt Gumi was wrong, Here was where we should be waiting. Here was where she would come back.

In the kitchen, I looked in the cupboards. I found a bowl, a cup, and a frying pan with cottony nests of spider's eggs in the bottom. I stood on a chair to look where the pencils were. I remembered her sharpening with the knife. "There you go, Ppoine dear. Keep it on the paper. That's a girl."

Then half the sun that lay on the kitchen floor disappeared. That was when the pounding started. Pound, pound, pound. Quiet. Pound, pound, pound. The other half of the sun was gone then too.

In the other rooms there still was light, so I went to the room with the chest where my toys lived.

There were leaves in the chest and sticks and snail shells and rocks that had been green and red and blue and yellow under the water, but they'd all turned brown in the chest. "Look, here's a pretty on," she said. She was really good at finding the pretty ones and she gave them all to me.

The pounding came again. Pound, pound, pound. Quiet. Pound, pound, pound. Quiet.

Mom's skates were in the chest. I felt the soft inside where her feet went in, but I remembered about the shiny part.

"Never touch," she said.

"Why?"

"Because this could happen."

She put the shiny part on her little finger and made a red line on her finger. She made a face when she did, so I could tell that it hurt her.

"See? Better you don't do that." She put the wooden sticks on the shiny parts and left to wrap her finger.

The little green sack was in the chest. "For when you're older," she said. Five is older.

There were stones in the sack. You could tell by how heavy it was, by how it clicked and clacked when you moved it. They were pretty ones, I bet. The string was tight. She could have got it undone or even Aunt Gumi, but I couldn't.

I took the sack to Mama's room and sat on the green rug beside the bed where we said,"Now I lay me down to sleep." I used my teeth. I have good teeth. One of them is gray from when I fell down the stairs, but it works just like the white ones. The string was leather. It tasted nice and felt good in my mouth. I worked on it. I'm a good worker, that's what Aunt Gumi says. I worked on it until I got it loose.

The stones inside were pretty. Some of them were soft red-brown, like flowerpots, but the best ones were like jewels, colors like stick candy. All of them were perfectly round. They rolled when I set them on the floor. They rolled into the grooves of the braid on the rug and two of them, a lemon and a cinnamon, rolled under the bed.

Under the bed was where to go the day the noises were scary.

"Go to your room," Mama said, but I didn't want to go.

They were angry. They scolded me.

"Go away now, Ppoine," they said. But I went under the bed in the dark and low.

Aunt Gumi bent down."Here, now. See? Shush now, Aunt Gumi's got candy."

I didn't want candy. I wanted to stay, but Mama said no. "go to your room. There's nothing to be scared of."

But I could see that wasn't true.

Under the bed is a good place to hide when you heard the screaming, when you hear the breathing, when you hear the "God, oh God, oh God."

In the dark and low, on the now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep, I shush and suck and suck. I suck my candy sharp as a needle. I lay me down to sleep and then I wake. Still, there are the noises. They won't stop making the noises. I hold my hands over my ears, but still they won't stop. Back and forth go Mama's shoes. Back and forth, until I'm tired, until the baby cries, and then it's quiet.

I put the stones in the bag and then there was the pounding, right over my head. And then all the light went away. It was dark as night, as dark as the water when I couldn't get up.

"Mama!" I screamed. "Mama!" I found where she was. But she wasn't there.

And then he came.

He lifted me up and carried me into the sun and back to the water where I didn't cry. I'm sure I didn't cry.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>Once Miki and Ppoine and I had settled on the island, whenever I wasn't sleeping like a dead woman, I was a virtual whirlwind, I'll say that for myself. All through that April and May and into June, I pushed my trouble out of my mind and put the island in order. I tilled the garden and I planted the seeds along the rows Ppoine and I lined up with string. I made out the grocery lists and collected the deliveries from the locker, even the chunks of ice for the icebox. They were heavy, but I dragged them up the hill on a blanket. I washed Ppoine's [pinafores and combed her hair and taught her how to count to twenty and saw that she kept her shoes on and stayed well back from the water. Mostly, I watched while she played her endless games to make sure that the stones and twigs stayed out of her eyes, her dolls stayed decently dressed and her face stayed reasonably clean.<p>

Miki and I did all these things, too, of course, but she did them less seriously and with less zeal. She was always wandering off to write a letter to Kaito or to stick her nose in one of the books with which she'd weighted our sled. Now that the weather was warm, often she'd let Ppoine play right at the edge of the water while she read, and I worried that she wouldn't notice the difference between the plop of Ppoine's pebbles and the splash of the child herself falling in.

One night, when the moon was so bright that it made a ghostly day, I awoke to the sound of splashing and Ppoine's squeals. Terrified, I rushed down to the shore. Miki was holding Ppoine by the arms and spinning her around as fast as she could, dragging the little girl through the water, while the moonlight licked the waves around them like a flame.

"Stop that! Stop that right now!" I stamped my foot.

Miki stopped spinning and turned to face me, drawing Ppoine against her body as she did so, her arms wrapped around the child's middle, so that Ppoine's feet dangled, dripping over the water. Ppoine wasn't bit enough, though, to cover Miki's nakedness. I was shocked—the two of them there like that, without a stitch on, where anyone could see. I couldn't think where to put my eyes on. I turned and hurried back to the house and felt my way down the dark hall to my room.

I lay on my bed, my hands pressed over over the other on my chest to calm my racing heart. Then I let my hands slide down. I let myself feel through the thin cotton of my nightgown the part that had begun to swell like bread dough. I tried, as I had for weeks now, to push it down, but it was solid—it would not budge.

And then, inside of me, it fluttered.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>"Stand still. These are sticking together." Gumi was trying to rat Ppoine's hair around a handful of burrs. "Good. Just like a witch." She cackled to make it a game, and Ppoine giggled. "And now a little of this on your cheeks." Gently, she smeared rouge on Ppoine's soft skin. "Not too much. Now, you remember what we practiced?"<p>

Ppoine nodded.

"All right, under the covers and close your eyes, and remember, not a word, no matter what he asks you."

Gumi was keeping Ppoine out of school as long as possible. No one had argued with her that first year after she'd been released from St. Anzu's. Ppoine was only five, after all, and what with the months of not speaking and the toilet accidents, she hardly seemed ready for kindergarten. The next year, though, had been more difficult. She'd had to remind Kaito that he knew nothing about children, that he could not imagine the trauma Ppoine had suffered at losing a mother at such an age, that she was teaching the child more than any school would have. The last part, at least, was true. Ppoine, although she wasn't a wizard with arithmetic as Gumi had been, could already add and subtract, and although she hated the cruel Struwwelpeter, she could read every word about him. She could identify trees by their leaves, and birds by their calls, and could point out at least four constellations. She understood that blue and yellow made green, knew how to differentiate a Guernsey from a Jersey and had raised a lamb whose mother had died of distemper.

Kaito was fairly easy to persuade, but Gumi knew Ppoine's precocity wouldn't impress the school board. When that body sent someone to the house to investigate, she pretended that Ppoine was ill, and even staged a convincing epileptic fit.

"Perhaps you'd better wait in the front room, Mr. Hiyama," Gumi calmly said as Ppoine, her tongue lolling from her lips, began to jerk and then bark like an animal.

It'd work wonderfully the first time, but this year Kaito, who'd left a pair of pliers in his room, came home to find the school board member on the davenport.

"It's very sad about your daughter," Mr. Hiyama said. "I'd hoped she'd be better this year."

When she heard Kaito running up the stairs, Gumi realized there was nothing more that she could do. Ppoine would have to go to school.

* * *

><p>AN:

Miki comes across, to me, as a character who is very lovable and adores physical contact (affection-wise). While I was RPing with a friend, Shadowfox777 *cough**cough***_awesomeficslikeDoppleganger_***cough*, I kinda integrated her original personality that I had in mind in this story, which seems to work out just fine. She is a bit naive, narrow-minded, likes to have things her way and a bit bossy, but at the same time she's loving, caring, and motherly when she was still with Ppoine. And that little tidbit of her wanting more children is another thing about her that I would think that she would love to have a big family. But, yeah, apparently she doesn't get that wish in this story. ouo" Maybe some other time. . .

In any case, I really do love writing the little bits describing how the family was before Miki's sudden death. These are my personal feelings from when my brother was born about four years ago, so I put my feelings into Kaito the moment he held Ppoine before doubting himself the moment he sees her open her eyes. X3

When my brother did that, when I was fifteen, I actually almost passed out because I didn't think I could handle being the second motherly-figure for him. And while I was still carrying him, too! Every time I open the family albums, I'm overwhelmed with nostalgia and can't comprehend how the little infant who demanded so much attention could have grown into an independent young boy who doesn't feel as if though he needs me around anymore. Almost makes me want to cry, but everyone has to grow up sometime, even though I'd like to hold him again and have him cling onto me like he used to. Of course, many of you have a person that you've grown to love with every ounce of your being and I hope that you continue to shower them with love, even if they ignore you and only come up to you whenever it's time to eat. XD

. . .My fingers hurt.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. ^^"

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><p>It was a morning ripe with the smell of manure, an odor acrid when it first penetrated the nostrils, but compelling and pleasant like a good cheese the longer it clung to the air. The school and its playground were bordered by fields, all freshly spread and drying in the warm September wind. On a hillock at the west end of the playground, twelve girls had settled, most with their legs crossed Indian style, skirts pushed to the ground in the space between their thighs, cradling their dinner pails. In the cluster was the entire female enrollment of Voridge School with the exception of Ppoine Shion, who always ate her lunches alone.<p>

A few who had finished eating leaned back on locked elbows, tilting their chins to catch the last of the year's sun. At the crown of the hill sat Kiki Kagamine, her knees crooked together, legs angling off to one side in imitation of older girls. At eight and three quarters, Kiki already gave clear indications that she was to become a woman, and although none of her girlfriends, nor even Kiki herself, could have defined this quality, they all studied her carefully, as if she were one step ahead in the game.

For the boys, too, Kiki was mesmerizing and, almost without even knowing they did so, two or three would always be circling and circling, making tentative forays toward her and then quickly back or veering off toward one of her retinue, a safer target.

"Watch this, watch this!" One demanded, darting up and poking her shoulder with the tip of his finger. Then he rolled his eye lid back until it was inside out and glistening red above the eyeball, turning his head this way and that to give the widest audience a chance to admire. Delighted shrieks and groans rose up. Several girls, giggling, threw their hands over their faces and one, who had been seated on the slope of the hill, tumbled over sideways.

Kiki was not above this sort of pleasure, but she knew better than to express it and instead rolled her own eyes in disgust and put the last bite of her ham sandwich in her mouth. A small knot of boys, seeing that an emissary had paved their way, then approached. Kiki watched them out of the corner of her eye as she finished her pickles, neatly folded the waxed paper that had kept the sandwich from soaking in brine, and wiped her fingers on the clean white handkerchief that her mother had edged in lace. Among the younger children the popular game of the last few weeks had been a version of hide-and-seek and tag, boys against girls. It was understood that whoever was caught might have to submit to a kiss or reveal a glimpse of their underpants, although the unwilling on either side could, without too much difficulty, delay the prize until the bell rang to rescue them.

Leaving their pails in a row by the school wall, the girls went off to find hiding places in the count of one hundred. By forty, Kiki had observed with increasing dissatisfaction that each bush and corner on the playground had been inhabited so often that it was marked by a telltale path of trampled dust. By fifty, she gave up looking for a place where she couldn't' be found, and instead ran to the three concrete culverts that had been left over from a drainage project and were now abandoned in one corner of the playground like a ruined shrine to some forgotten god. This sort of hiding place was more to her liking anyway, since form one of the tunnels she could leap out easily and turn the tables, becoming the aggressor.

On sixty, she crawled into the first tunnel and immediately scrambled out, horrified by the crooked, unbroken trails of ants that covered its floor. The second tunnel, as it turned out, was already inhabited, but Kiki crouched at the entrance for a moment, peering in.

Ppoine Shion was a mess, as usual. Her fine, sky blue hair had pulled halfway out of her braid on one side, so that it bulged in a snarled mass over her ear, and the hem of her skirt was coming down. She was so blatantly odd that she'd been a scapegoat almost from the first week she appeared in school four years before. Even Kiki had occasionally joined her schoolmates when they felt particularly mean in taunting Ppoine, usually about her upper right incisor, which was dead at the root and rotted to the gray of pencil lead, a baby tooth that clung to her gum although the girl was already eleven. Many a dull lesson had been whiled away by sketching a face with a wide grin, shading in the appropriate tooth, labeling the modified drawing "Ppoine" and, when the teacher's back was turned, holding up the ingenious creation for general viewing.

Ppoine rarely seemed even to notice or would quietly look at the perpetrators and those who laughed, not with reproach, but with curiosity, as if she saw something unnatural in their faces. This experience was at first disturbing but ultimately boring and eventually only those who could find no other means of maintaining their status punctured her solitude.

In the culvert, Ppoine was simply sitting, examining the pocketed surface of the concrete and enjoying its coolness through the thin cotton of her skirt. Whenever her body warmed an area, she shifted to another cool spot. A few lines of ants marched around her, but she didn't seem to mind. From time to time she shot a clay marble from the small handful in her pocket through the tunnel with just enough force so that it rolled to the edge but did not fall over.

Kiki was not only queen of the second and third grades but also a marble champion of the entire school, or at least she and everyone else believed she was. But here is what she saw when she looked into the tunnel: a blue mib, very slightly lopsided, rolling slowly, slowly, slowly to the edge of the tunnel where it gently nicked a brown mib and then lay still. In other words, she saw a marble shooter who could beat her.

This didn't upset her. Kiki appreciated skill, especially if she could make use of it. She duck-walked into the culvert's entrance, blocking most of the light. Ppoine glanced up at her but didn't move.

"What are you doing there?" Kiki asked.

Ppoine didn't answer, but she looked down at her hand and rolled another marble, slowly, slowly, slowly, to the edge of the concrete tunnel.

Offended, Kiki forgot her attempt at condescension. "Look, you're shooting marbles," she said, slapping one palm against the tunnel floor. "I can see you're shooting marbles. Why don't you just say so?"

"If you can see I'm shooting marbles, why do you want to ask me to say so?" quipped Ppoine to the cool concrete beside her hand. And then she squinted up at Kiki, dark against the hard, bright blue of the sky and smiled, showing her black tooth full to the world.

Kiki's fingers stung where they'd hit the concrete. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, hesitating, and then she let her anger evaporate. Forgetting about her hiding place, oblivious to the ants, Kiki crawled into the tunnel beside Ppoine and explained her excellent plan.

Kiki coveted an aggie as blue as the sky at noon. This marble had somehow come to be in the clutches of Taezu Kowairo, at eight already a swaggering, self-satisfied boy. Kiki wanted that marble for herself, but she'd also become convinced that she had a duty to free it from the fat, greasy sack of marbles that Taezu kept in his desk.

So far she'd gone about her quest in the wrong way, as it turned out. She'd practiced for months and pumped an older boy she knew, already in seventh grade and tired of marbles, for his secrets: a lick of saliva on the finger for certain shots, shoulders positioned a particular way for others. Her skirts had become permanently brownish at the hems and across the front from squatting and kneeling in the dirt to shoot. She had become good, then better and better, collecting many other children's prize marbles along the way, until her own supple cowhide marble bag was stuffed nearly full. In these early games, the blue marble had appeared often among the brown mibs and the green and red and yellow crystals and the rainbow swirlies and the cat's eyes, but Taezu, ever vigilant for opportunities to thwart another's pleasure, began to notice Kiki's interest in that particular sphere, and when her aim improved he pulled it out of the game.

Pulled it out of the game. Just like that. Just like that it was gone, dropped into the limp gray bag, and the tugged the drawstring tight, squeezing out the fresh air, as she watched. He would not take it out again.

But now she had a plan.

"Hey Taezu," she whispered to him in front of her the next day, as Miss Ann began her litany about the letters that go above the line and the letters that go below the line in cursive script,"marbles today at recess, got it?"

"Nah, marbles is for kids," Taezu said into his shoulder.

"No, I've got a good idea. We'll play teams."

Miss Ann turned from the series of _l_'s she'd been admiring on the board. "Who is talking? I will have no talking while I am talking. Do you understand that, pupils?" She turned back to the board. "Now, the _l_ should not be confused with the _i_, which comes only to the halfway point and, of course, has the dot. Now I do not want to see any more of those large, scribble dots above your _i_'s. There is no need to make a rat's nest. What is called for here is simply the touching of pencil to paper. Like this." She made a series of small taps with the chalk across the top of her row of letters. Some of them did not show up. "You see?" she said.

Ahead of Kiki, Taezu shrugged his acquiescence to her suggestion, just as Miss Ann turned, smiling, to the class. Her smile dropped from her face. "Taezu, you are driving me pret' near to the end of my rope. Do you have something to share with the rest of the class?"

The plan played out just as Kiki had intended. She let Taezu choose his own partner, Naz, and then told him to pick a partner for her as well. He scanned the group of onlookers, rapidly dividing the good players from those who could hardly balance a marble between finger and thumb. And then he saw Ppoine, standing perhaps just a little bit closer than she ordinarily would, chewing on a strand of her long, light-blue hair, apparently hoping to be part of the group without being noticed. Kiki's heart jumped a little as she saw his eyes squint in triumphant glee.

"There, she's your partner. Loony Ppoine. Let's play."

The blue aggie lay trapped in the bag at first, and Kiki had trouble concentrating on the game because of it. Even without meaning to, sh made several poor shots right at the start and sacrificed an apricot cat's eye, one of her favorites, to the greasy pouch. Ppoine bungled every shot admirably, just as Kiki had instructed. She seemed unable to keep the shooter from slipping our of her hand and kept catching her heel in the hem of her skirt when she tried to kneel. At last their performance encouraged Taezu's maliciousness to get the better of his caution and he produced the blue marble.

"Ain't she pretty?" he observed, shining the orb on his yellowed shirtfront. "What will you give me to put this one into the game?"

"A nickel," Kiki promptly said.

"You ain't got a nickel."

"I have, too."

"Show me then."

"I can get one."

"Ha! Fifty years from now! No, I'm thinking I should get something better than that to risk this beauty."

Kiki seethed. The marble meant nothing to him. This was just meanness, pure meanness. "Well, what do you want?"

"I want"—he looked around and licked his narrow lips—"I want the black tooth." He stared at Ppoine.

Somebody snorted a laugh. Somebody else made a retching sound and was rewarded with a wash of giggles. Kiki looked at Ppoine. For a minute, she hesitated, seeing out of the corner of her eye the blue marble glowing with hope in Taezu's hand.

Then she said,"Forget it. That's ridiculous." She reached to pick up her remaining marbles from the circle.

"Wait," Ppoine spoke up,"I'll do it. See, it's ready for pulling anyway." She parted her lips to move the tooth back and forth with her tongue.

"You shouldn't,"Kiki protested. "It's not right."

"It's my tooth," Ppoine shot back,"I can do what I want with it." And then she smiled at Kiki, to help ease her discomfort before turning to look at Taezu. "Let's play."

"Tooth first," he ordered. But just when Miss Ann came into the yard, ringing the bell. "After school," he said and dropped the marble into the bag and drew the drawstring tight.

* * *

><p>~ . . . ~<p>

* * *

><p>When they were finally released into he September afternoon, a gray layer of cloud had thickened the smell of manure to a pungent miasma. Ppoine was among the last out of the building and the children who had gathered several yards from the door had begun to punch each other lightly about the arms and kick each other a little about the ankles by the time she appeared.<p>

They quieted immediately and watched as she drew from her dress pocket a piece of string she had stolen from the supply cabinet while Miss Ann's attention was focused on the third grade's times tables. Tying it on the little tooth was difficult; it slipped off several times before she was satisfied that it was secure, but at last she declared herself ready and walked over to the school's tool shed, the string dangling from her mouth.

"Ain't you afraid it's going to hurt?" A small girl asked at her elbow.

"Not too much. I worked it over arithmetic," Ppoine answered as she opened the shed door. She had to kneel to tie the string around the handle. "Now, who's going to slam this?" she asked, looking at Kiki.

Kiki hesitated. The thought of yanking that tooth out of Ppoine's gum made her feel sick. But Ppoine continued to look at her steadily. Finally Kiki took a deep breath and grabbed the door. "You ready?"

"Ready."

Kiki inhaled again and held her breath. Ppoine's eyes were still upon her, but Kiki squinted her own eyes until they were nearly closed. Then she slammed the door as hard as she could into its frame.

It was everywhere. The blood seemed to be spurting in all directions, running out of Ppoine's mouth and all over her dress. Without thinking, Kiki produced her handkerchief and pushed it into Ppoine's right hand. As Ppoine looked blankly down at it, a few drops of blood seeped from between the fingers of the hand that was holding to her lips and stained the white cloth red. She glanced in alarm at Kiki, who looked slightly disgusted.

"Use it," Kiki impatiently demanded and Ppoine stuffed the handkerchief in the raw space.

The tooth dangled from the door handle, pearly gray and red where it was yanked free. Ppoine untied it and then polished it with a clean corner of the hanky. "Here," she said, handing it to the dreaded boy,"let's play."

Wining the marble was easy. One quick flick of Ppoine's shooter and it was out of the circle, out of the game, and no one was much interested after that.

Kiki felt in her chest an overwhelming desire to run home as quickly as she could and sit beside her mother on the long, low sofa in the front room. But she gritted her teeth and walked beside Ppoine, for their way lay in the same direction. As they walked, Ppoine pressed her tongue into the newly emptied space and Kiki rolled and rolled the blue marble between her fingers in her pocket. It felt heavy and tainted. She drew it out, half expecting its color to be blotted, but the blue glowed on, indifferent to the blood that had been spilled in its winning.

"Here, let's see once." Ppoine held out her hand.

Kiki hesitated a moment and then put the aggie in the center of Ppoine's palm. Ppoine plucked it out between the thumb and index finger of her left hand and turned towards the sun. She held the marble in front of one eye while she shut the other. "Look, you can see right in there."

"Give it here," Kiki said and Ppoine passed the globe back to her.

Ppoine was right; you could see into it. Kiki studied the layers of deeper blue that ran through it and a small cloud of lighter color that drifted near one edge.

"I'm going to keep this forever," Kiki said. "Feel how smooth." She held it against Ppoine's cheek and rolled it slowly upward with her palm.

They walked on, stopping now and again to look into the marble from a new angle, handing it back and forth, blinking as the sun filled their eyes.

"My mother says your mother is dead," Kiki brought up. She glanced at Ppoine out of the corner of her eye, not knowing how the other girl would respond. Did you cry when someone mentioned your dead mother?

But Ppoine was busy polishing the marble on the hem of her dress and hardly seemed to care. "Yes."

Emboldened, Kiki pursued the issue. It was interesting, after all. She couldn't' think of anyone else she knew who didn't' have a mother. "How did she die?"

"She drowned."

"In the lake?"

"Of course. Where else would a person drown?"

"There's other water than Serenada Lake, you know."

"Well, that's where she drowned, anyway. In Serenada Lake."

Kiki had the marble back again and she rubbed it between her palms before asking an even more daring question. "Did you see when it happened?"

Ppoine thought about it for a moment. "I guess so," she finally said. "I drowned, too."

"That's stupid. If you drowned, you'd be dead."

"Sometimes you die, sometimes you don't. That must be how it is with drowning."

Ppoine said this with such authority that Kiki felt her own position as the one who knew the most, who was most interesting, who would clearly be the one to say which answer was right and which game was played and for how long, slipping. "My mother found me in the garden, like in the Green Fairy book," she countered.

"Really?" Ppoine seemed suitably impressed, and Kiki felt generous again.

"You sure are going to look better when that tooth comes in," she said.

No knowing what to say to this, Ppoine threw the marble up and caught it.

Kiki gasped. "Don't lose it."

"Don't worry," Ppoine said, tossing it up once more to prove that she could catch it still. When she caught it, she handed it back to Kiki, who slipped it into her dress pocket.

They had reached Kiki's turnoff. "Well," she said, turning back to older girl."I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then."

"Wait a minute." Ppoine reached into her pocket. "Here." She held out the gory hanky in Kiki's face.

"How about washing it?" Kiki said, leaning a little away from the thing. Ppoine looked at it and nodded, as if noticing for the first time that it was soiled, and then began to fold it carefully. Kiki, watching, amended her words. "You can keep it."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I have plenty at home. So long, then."

Kiki walked on a few steps toward her house and then turned back. Ppoine was still standing in the road, watching her. "Ppoine!" Kiki called. "You want this?" She drew the marble out of her pocket and held it up.

"No. It's yours. See you tomorrow."

Kiki waved and half ran, half skipped with her delight in her treasure all the way home. Ppoine, on the other hand, was in no hurry. Had Kiki looked again, she would have seen Ppoine turn and start back toward the school. She walked with her chin very high, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, as if she were balancing something on her head. By the time she reached the playground the sun had began to set in crimson streaks and the manure had mellowed in the cool of the evening so that it now just seasoned the air with a hint of organic richness.

She returned to the culverts and chose again the one in which Kiki had found her that morning. This time, however, she took a running start and hurl herself on top of the concrete cylinder. On the first try, she didn't jump high enough to reach the summit and slipped back to earth, grazing her elbow slightly on the way down. On the second try, her footing was off and she veered away at the last moment. In the third try, she ran so fast that she could not keep track of her steps, planted her feet hard in the dust about a foot from the tunnel and flew into the air, spinning her body as she went so that she landed smack, sitting nearly at the top. She had only to grip hard with her thighs and wriggle her way upward and she was there.

Inching up as she pressed against the concrete had pulled her dress tight across her throat and she leaned first to the left and then to the right to loosen it. Then she crossed her ankles, one over the other. Despite the overcast afternoon, the concrete had soaked in enough sunlight to warm the backs of her legs. For a moment she leaned back until her body draped over the curing tunnel and looked at the playground upside down. If she concentrated very hard, she could almost believe that the trees and honeysuckle hung from a green sky and that the orange and red rivers of the sunset flooded over a periwinkle ground, but soon the blood throbbed in her head and her skinned elbow began to sting. She sat up, spit a little on her fingers, and rubbed the sore spot with the pink saliva.

Ppoine smoothed her skirt neatly over her knees and then drew the lace-trimmed handkerchief from her pocket and smoothed it over her skirt. It was a little stiff where the blood had dried, but she was able to press it fairly flat. Delicately, she pinched the lace edges between her first two fingers and thumbs and set the crown on her head. Sitting tall upon her throne, she gazed at the empty playground rolling out before her.

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><p>AN:

For those of you who don't know how or who Kiki is: h t t p : / / u t a u . w i k i a . c o m / w i k i / K i k i _ O k a s h i n e

Take out the spaces. She'll be a key character from here on out.

Well, you'll be seeing how Ppoine grows up, then. c: I was originally going to use Midori Injune, but meh, she didn't seem to quite fit what I was looking for. But I instantly fell in love when I accidentally found Kiki singing "What is Colors?" on Youtube and looked her up, saw her in color, and cried,"She's perfect!"

Plus, she looks a lot like someone Ppoine would actually get along decently well with. Decently.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N:

Sorry for taking so long to update this. I'll try to be more frequent once Spring Break rolls around. Well, you'll see one of my favorite male UTAU in this chapter again, but he really isn't going to show up that often until later on. . .*sighs* I brought him to remind you that he's still here and so is our "favorite" asshole of an ex.

* * *

><p>It had worked out all right. They had made do. That was what Gumi could hardly get over every morning when she woke to the sound of Kaito's chair scraping on the wooden floor as he got dressed to go out to do the milking. He never could keep from moving that chair, she thought fondly. It was almost as if he wanted her to know that he was up and that their day was beginning.<p>

There had been that year or two of wondering who would stay and how exactly things would be arranged, but somehow they'd settled into a family at last, the various tasks of life divided comfortably among them, and the days now turned like a wheel with three spokes. Sp that even though Kaito had been distracted lately, Gumi and Ppoine simply shifted themselves to accommodate his moods.

Nero had begun to visit regularly, ever since the day Kaito invited him to dinner, and on Friday nights he escorted Gumi to the pictures and a place to eat. They felt an affection for one another based on their old love and sustained by avoiding personal conversation. If he'd hoped for something more, he never hinted at it, except to ask occasionally if Gumi would go out with him on a Saturday. She never would. Saturday was the night she and Kaito listened to their programs on the radio.

All this would have been enough, really, more than enough, but then Ppoine had found Kiki.

The first time Ppoine mentioned Kiki, the night she'd come home with blood smeared on her cheeks, Gumi had felt her own blood drain away. She was tempted. She could feel the retort coming to her tongue—"There's no Kiki. You can't know a Kiki." But of course, there was and Ppoine did.

"You've ruined this dress," Gumi had said instead, pulling the garment a little too roughly over the girl's head. "I doubt I'll be able to get this out."

"Kiki says the fairies brought her." Ppoine's voice was muffled by the fabric over her mouth.

Gumi bent over the pump to hide her face. "That's just a story, Ppoine."

Kaito wasn't interested in fairies, either. He put one hand on her forehead, the other on her chin, and tilted her had back to study her gums.

"Here," he said, wetting his handkerchief with the contents of a bottle he kept behind the flour bin. "This'll make it better."

Ppoine frowned at the taste, but she held her jaw steady and allowed her father to minister to her.

It wasn't accurate, of course, to say that Ppoine had found Kiki. Kiki had been there all along, as Gumi well knew, for after she was released form St. Anzu's she often went into the bait shop to assure herself that the child was showing no signs of the inauspicious way she'd come into the world. Although she understood the safety of her secret depended upon holding herself as far as possible from the girl. she couldn't seem to help drawing near.

Rin would push Kiki forward for Gumi to admire, but at the same time would hold tight to shoulder. "Hasn't she grown? Kiki, you know Miss Hiirone. Say how do you do."

But Kiki would hang back, as if in obedience to a message she felt though her mother's fingers.

When Ppoine started school, Gumi found herself in town more often. She was in the shop one day in March when Kiki was feeling weak and dizzy, and she was the first to realize that the girl had scarlet fever. She insisted that she be quarantined along with the Kagamines, although the doctor might have been persuaded to let her go home.

"We can't risk infecting Ppoine," she declared, brushing aside Rin's protestations. "Besides, Kiki needs me. I haven't forgotten my training."

Kiki's illness scared Gumi so much that she could hardly catch her breath when she thought of what might happen, but once the real danger had passed, she wished her recovery would go on forever. She cut paper dolls for the little girl, not just the kind that stood stiff and simple, joined at the hands like a fence, but also shapes the resembled real women, who could model clothes Gumi cut from the catalogs. Ppoine had never been interested in the just-looking, the just-laying-out of paper dolls, but Kiki loved it.

"Look!" Kiki announced to her mother one evening, swatting aside the pillow slip Rin was mending and climbing onto her lap with a sheep of paper in her hands. Gumi had drawn whiskers on the girl's face and colored the tip of her nose black.

"Miss Hiirone taught me to write my numbers."

"Those are beautiful, darling," Rin said, but that night she had a talk with Gumi. "I'm taking Kiki back to the shop with me tomorrow. It isn't fair, our keeping you from Ppoine and Kaito like this, and I think she's well enough now. I mean, thanks to you, she's completely recovered. I don't know what we would've done without you, Gumi. I was so worried. But everything's all right now, isn't it?"

So Kiki went off the next morning with her hand in her mother's and Gumi went back to the farm. She didn't stop visiting, though, and Rin was always pleased to show her daughter off.

"Gumi, you should hear the way Kiki can do her sums. What's five plus seven, Kiki?" And later,"What's five times seven, Kiki?" And later still,"What's five times seven plus seventy-five minus fifty-seven," until the numbers were so quick and complicated that only Gumi and Kiki knew the answers.

AS Kiki got older, it would be natural for Gumi to encourage a friendship between the girls, but she did not. Something alarmed her about Kiki, something that made her feel it was too risky to bring them together. She'd noticed it one Sunday morning, when she'd stood across the street, watching the family emerge from church, Kiki riding on Len's shoulders.

The girl looked exactly like Miki.

* * *

><p>"That'll be fifteen cents, please," Kiki said in her most grown-up voice. She'd hoisted herself onto a stool behind the counter in her mother's bait shop, so that she could reach the register.<p>

"Ron, have you got a nickel?" the man asked the boy who stood beside him. "I'll pay you back when we get home."

"That's all right," the boy said. "You gave it to me in the first place." His dark hair fell forward over his glasses as he reached into his pocket.

"My son and I are thinking of starting a tour boat company at Serenada Beach," the man said. "If there was a boat that drove around the lake, would you girls ride on it?"

"Dad," Ron started before stopping himself. He shuffled his feet in embarrassment and looked at the floor, a rare action he did because he was normally reserved and silent.

"Serenada Beach isn't that far," Ppoine pointed out.

"But it would stop for you anywhere around the lake and bring you back again."

"Just going around in a circle?" Kiki asked.

"A big circle, all the way around the lake. And it would be a nice boat, two decks and a mahogany rail. Red velvet seat cushions. Or maybe a nautical stripe."

"I like the red," Kiki said. "Would there be food?"

"There could be. That's a good idea. Don't you think that's a good idea, Ron?"

"Yes, father," the boy politely agreed. "But shouldn't we be getting home, though?"

After the door had closed behind them, Kiki said, "You know the big white house with the pillars? Down the road from the Momone's? That's theirs."

Everyone who'd ever been on the lake knew the house with the pillars. "The White Hose," certain people said, smiling snidely behind their martinis as they cruised by, but it drew them nevertheless. "Who'd ever thought there'd be so much money in the swamps?" They said, referring to the Florida land boom, which had made the Yonnés' fortune secure, not so much because Victor Yonné , like every man and his brother, had known when to get in, but because he'd known when to get out.

Kiki propped her head on one hand, sighed, and sifted aimlessly with the other through a box of lead sinkers. Ppoine kept an eye on her as she drifted around the shop, examining the merchandise—tubs of night crawlers and leeches, tanks of minnows, coils of line, baskets of red and white cork bobbers. She clasped her hands behind her back. "Look but don't touch," her Aunt Gumi always said.

Ppoine wanted her own store when she grew up. Only it didn't have to be a bait shop. In fact, she thought she might prefer a dry goods store or a grocery or maybe a penny candy store that sold mainly lollipops and maybe some blueberry hard candies. Mainly, she wanted a place where the goods weren't alive and didn't make such a mess. What she wanted was a stock of times, all on their own special shelves, and a big case on the counter with lots of tiny drawers. She would know without looking what was in each one, the way Mrs. Kagamine did. She liked the way you just had to wait, when you had a stare, for people to come in and tell you what they'd been up to since the last time. She liked the account books, with their special columns for credits and debits, and the neat way Mrs. Kagamine made her numbers.

Mrs. Kagamine was only good at writing the numbers, not at the adding and subtracting, so sometimes Kiki had to go over to do the figures for her. Kiki could do sums in her head faster than other people could write them down. Most of her other chores, she hated. She only pretended to dust when she went around with the cloth, and whenever her mother asked her and Ppoine to clean out some of the tubs, she mainly just pumped the water and talked while Ppoine did all the scrubbing. But Ppoine didn't mind. It was fun working as long as Kiki was in a good mood, telling about the people they knew or what shed done with her cousins up north. Ppoine hoped she would get to work the register sometime, but Kiki said better not, her mother might not like it.

After their bloody afternoon two years before, Kiki had sought Ppoine out, as was her right by virtue of her popularity, mostly because she was curious. She craved drama and expected Ppoine to do and say unusual things. For the sake of the company, Ppoine was clever enough to oblige. Even now, when curiosity had long since given way to familiarity and familiarity had ripened into affection, Ppoine still felt she'd better get Kiki interested or soon enough she'd be saying Ppoine might as well go home. Ppoine picked up a knife with a flat, curved blade.

"What's this for?" she asked, just to say something. It took a lot of effort, sometimes, to have Kiki for a friend. Sometimes she would even ask herself in the safety in her mind on whether or not all of this hard work was even worth it.

"Ugh. To take the scales off. I hate fish." Kiki said that last part quietly, so her mother, who was doing the bookkeeping in the back room, wouldn't hear her. Mrs. Kagamine always told Kiki that she should be grateful—fish bought her dresses and hair ribbons, chicken dinners, train trips to Hazenpool, a warm house. It was a funny idea, Ppoine thought—a perch standing on its tail with a shopping basket over one fine, choosing a nice piece of calico and seven mother of pearl buttons at a dry goods store.

Kiki went on lifting handfuls of sinkers and letting them fall back into their box through her thin fingers.

And then Ppoine thought of something to offer, something so big and important, she couldn't believe she hadn't already used it up:

"Want to see where my mother is buried?"

Kiki sat up straight. "Really?" She slid off the stool.

"Sure. If you want to." Ppoine said it like it was nothing, like she could show her a hundred other things in this town that was just as interesting as showing her her mother's resting place if she was in the mood.

"We're going out, Mother." Kiki called toward the curtained doorway behind her.

"Have a good time, girls. Don't be late for supper," Mrs. Kagamine's voice came back.

Ppoine liked the way she treated them as if they were old enough to know what they were doing, so different from Aunt Gumi, who'd never stop fussing, even now that she was fourteen and Kiki nearly eleven. Ppoine didn't bother to walk all the way to the cemetery gate, instead, when they reached the rock wall, she boosted herself onto it and swung her legs over.

Kiki balked. "Ppoine! Anyone could see right up your dress!"

"So? Everyone here is dead." Ppoine reminded her and stood on the wall, then, and grabbed the branch of a pear tree that hung over her head. She walked up the trunk, until she could hook her knees over the branch, and hung there. "Don't worry. No one can tell it's me." Her voice was muffled by her skirt, which hung upside down over her face.

"Ppoine, please!" Kiki begged, but she giggled and scrambled onto the wall herself. "Help me up." Too short to reach the branch on which Ppoine was now sitting, she held her arms as high as she could over her head and scratched the air with her fingertips, waiting.

Ppoine leaned precariously toward her, supporting first herself and then bother of them by hooking her instep under another branch. She wasn't strong enough, however, to pull Kiki up. "I have to let go." She said and dropped her onto the soft cemetery grass.

"Come down, then," Kiki demanded. "Let's go."

Usually, Ppoine didn't like visiting the graveyard. Walking up the gravelly path with Gumi, her feet always slipping a little back for every step forward, it had always seemed too hot or too cold. She'd felt sorry for her mother and her grandparents, too, stuck there, twelve back, six, seven and eight in, baking or freezing, nothing to see—even though she knew dead people being in Heaven, didn't care about those things. Today, though, scuffing through the grass with Kiki, the place felt different, like a playground.

"Look at this one," Kiki said, stopping in front of the stone with the ship carved on it.

"He was a sea captain," Ppoine said importantly. "He drowned like my mother." In fact, she had no idea why Scott Teka had a ship on his stone, but she didn't think he'd mind her making up a story about him. "And here are the ones from the war." That part was true—her Aunt Gumi had told her.

"This is a baby." Kiki read the dates on the stone in front of her, and they looked for more children, thinking what it would be like to be already under the ground forever, eaten by worms.

"But their souls go to heaven," Ppoine said. "Aunt Gumi told me all children's souls go to heaven."

"Everyone knows that."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ppoine<em>**

* * *

><p>When we found my mother's stone with the thick green honeysuckle growing behind it, I was almost sorry I'd brought Kiki there. You shouldn't visit your dead mother just to impress your bored friend. I traced the letters in my mother's name, hoping she'd believe I'd come to see her, hoping she'd forgive me.<p>

"That's funny," Kiki said.

"What is?"

"She died on my birthday. November twenty-seventh. Same year, too."

We looked at each other. It was a strange idea, frightening somehow, as if for a moment the door between the world of the living and the world of the dead had been blown open.

"Maybe you're her, reincarnated," I said for a joke to push the scariness away.

"What's reincarnated?"

I explained what Al had told me about a soul getting a new body when it died, about how you could have another life as a completely different person or even as a cat or a goldfinch, and about how a person living a long time ago could be born again and again as you. Not that Al and I really believed that, although after Al told me, I looked for my mother whenever an animal was born on the farm. None of them seemed to know me as I knew my mother would, and obviously neither did Kiki.

As we walked back into town, we talked about what we'd be in later lives and what we might have been before.

"I'm sure I must have been someone famous," Kiki said. "At least once or twice. Maybe I was a feudal princess or something. Everyone says I must have some kind of Asian blood in me. My hair is a really weird color and both of my parents are blonde."

"That's not how it works. When you come back, you don't look anything like the person you were. It's not like you're related." And then because I wished I hadn't shared my mother with her, I said,"What makes you think you were someone special, anyway?"

I said it mean and spiteful and I meant it like that and waited for her to be angry, but Kiki was too sure of herself to let anything I say upset her.

"Oh, I'm positive we were both famous," she said. She stopped, grabbed my arm, turned me toward her, and stared at my face without blinking. "I know what you were," she said finally. "You were a Chinese spy. Your eyes have that little slant and they're almost always half-closed and you're always so quiet, watching people. You know things, but you don't tell." She smiled, pleased with her story.

I didn't know anything, though, other than I'm only part Japanese because of my dad, and only thought it seemed very strange that while my mother and I were drowning. . . Kiki was being born.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>When Ppoine opened the kitchen door, Gumi looked up from the brilliant red rhubarb stems she was dicing. "Where have you been all day? You knew the beans needed weeding and the potato plants are full of bugs and I bet you the birds ate a good dozen tomatoes."<p>

Ppoine sighed. She wished things would stop growing. That was another good things about a store. Everything stayed steady, just as it was."I'll do it now," she said, turning to go back.

"You'll be eaten alive out there at this hour. There's a proper time for things." In one hand Gumi held five rhubarb stalks together on the table; with the other she wielded a long knife. "Anyway," She said, slicing quickly through the crisp stalks, while she slid her fingers along just fast enough to escape the knife,"I already did it for you."

Ppoine, ashamed of herself, looked at the floor. "Dad said I could go."

"Well, no use crying over spilt milk. Wash up and I'll give you a ruby."

Ppoine worked the pump handle and began to wash her hands.

"Maybe," Gumi said quietly,"you'd like to bring Kiki over here."

"What?" Ppoine pretended she couldn't make out the words over the squeak of the pump and the rush of water.

Gumi dipped a piece of rhubarb in and rolled it in sugar. "I said, why don't you bring Kiki over here?"

Ppoine held out the back of her hand so that Gumi could balance the rhubarb on her finger, like the jewel in a ring. It was their joke from some long-ago time of childish misunderstandings. "Wouldn't it be fun, all three of us together? Don't you like being here with me?"

"Yes," Ppoine replied, but the truth was she did and she didn't. As she chewed her "ruby", she felt Gumi's love, insidious and irresistible, press around her in the hot kitchen and she pursed her lips and squinted her eyes at the mix of sweet and sour. For the first time, she realized that she liked Kiki partly because her friend had nothing to do with Gumi.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>Kaito sat on the floor in one of the bedrooms of the island house, drawers pulled from the dresser spread out around him. An oblong of light fell across the floor from between the boards he'd pried off the window. He'd been through all of these drawers and then cupboards and the interstices between the walls and under the floorboards many times before. For months now he'd been rowing out to the island—sometimes once a week, sometimes every day, to look.<p>

It was like riding a Ferris Wheel. One day he would be relaxed, untroubled, sure that Gumi's story was true—she and Miki had lived on the island because they loved it there, because Miki wanted to be in the house she'd shared with him. And then the doubts would begin and the uncertainties would build, until at last he would have to drop whatever he was doing and hurry single-mindedly to the house to search for clues of something else.

He tried to stay way. _What if you find something_, he said to himself, _then what?_ Nothing good can come of it. Concentrate on your work. But he neglected the farm, thinking one more spot he hadn't checked, vividly imagining the white edge of a folded love letter or the golden glint of a keepsake ring. Some man had seduced his wife. Kaito had suspected it now for more than six months. He had merely to find the evidence.

He'd discovered only one clue. He pulled the silver knife out of his pocket as he did several times a day now, and examined. It was a good knife, expensive, not something casually left behind by someone building the house and none of their initials matched these: V. S. Y.

This had to belong to another man.

So what if it had, he told himself and told himself and told himself. It might mean nothing. It probably meant nothing. But then how to explain Gumi's reaction when he showed the knife to her?

He played over and over in his mind the morning he'd run across in his sock drawer the knife he'd picked up years before when he and Nero and Ppoine had been to the island together. He'd laid it on the table at breakfast, asking Gumi if she knew who owned it, thinking he ought to return a valuable object like that. She'd grab it up, turned it over, and then immediately pushed it back at him.

"I don't know. How should I know? The junk that collects! You should see the stuff I found behind the icebox last week." She'd picked up his plate before he'd finished his breakfast and scraped the last few bites of egg into the slop bucket, muttering, "I can't be held responsible for every odd pocketknife that turns up in a drawer."

At the time, it didn't even occur to Kaito that Gumi's behavior might have anything to do with Miki. In the first place, his sister-in-law was always high strung and quick to take offense, so her reaction hardly seemed unusual. And in the second place, he'd nearly forgotten about his wife. At least, he'd packed her away somehow. He was ashamed to admit it, but when he thought of her now, it seemed almost as if she'd been married to some other man, a friend he'd once known well but had long since lost track of. He missed her with a sense of nostalgia, in much the same way one would miss their youth. And even when he tried, he couldn't find a trace of the unbearable agony and black despair that had once overwhelmed him. He was sorry for Miki because she' d lost so much of life,and he was sorry for Ppoine that she couldn't know her mother. But for a long time now, he'd forgotten to feel sorry for himself.

But then he'd heard Miki's voice. He heard it first in the barn, just a snatch, a word or two or maybe not even an entire word but a piece of a word and an inflection, a note that was so unmistakably familiar that he said "Miki!" aloud without thinking and looked toward the hayloft, certain she must be sitting there, yellow straw tangled in her bright red hair, her feet swinging as she smiled down at him. Of course, she wasn't. Of course, she'd not come back to life. Still, he knew she was there somewhere. He strained to hear more, but the voice was gone, drowned out by Ppoine calling the geese to their suppers.

The second time Kaito heard Miki's voice was when he was placing a salt lick near the spring. This time it was much more distinct. It was singing "Lavender's Blue" and seemed to be coming from a clump of cattails. Although he knew it was only a memory, somehow released with intense clarity withing his head, although he new there would be nothing to see but air, he couldn't help but follow the sound, his feet sinking with every step into the rich, inky, marsh soil. Gingerly, he parted the stiff stalks and their sharp leaves to find the singer looking at him.

"Hello, Daddy. Look at all the mallow I got for Aunt Gumi. Did you want something?"

Kaito lost his footing and slipped to his knees. After that, it seemed that almost everything Ppoine did reminded him of Miki—the way she raised her eyebrows when she talked, the way she held her head as she studied her lessons, the way she sat with her legs tucked underneath her, the way she placed with her fingers wide when making an emphatic point. He wanted to grab her hands and squeeze those fingers together. Instead, he frowned and looked away.

That was when he took the knife back out of his sock drawer again. Turning the sliver over and over in his hands, trying the blade against the ball of his thumb for sharpness, he found himself puzzling over Ring's implications years before. Why would two young women choose to live alone on an island? Why did they stay on through the fall?

Big Al was no help. Kaito cornered him one evening in the tack room.

"I tried to get them girls to come home, Kaito." Al told him, rubbing hard on the bridle he was oiling. "I rowed out there. I told her,'You girls better come on back now. It's gettin' cold.' "

"What do you mean you told her? Who did you tell?"

"Well. . ." Al stared at the bit as if trying to see an image of the past in the shiny metal. "It was Miki I guess I told. I never saw Gumi much or just to wave to, up on the porch. I don't see what's the difference. What one did the other did, this kind of thing."

"This kind of thing? You mean they'd done this before?"

"Not like this, not living there. But when they were younger, that's where they'd go—a beeline for that island whenever Mrs. Hiirone got on them about something at the house. We had one helluva time finding 'em, me and Mr. Hiirone, before we caught on. Of course, he'd give 'em hell for runnin' away, especially Gumi. You know, she was older she shoulda known better, that kinda thing. But he liked it, too, the way they stuck together. 'I never had a brother,' he said to me and I knew what he meant."

Kaito was impatient with this sort of reminiscence. "But this time, Al, when they were living there, what did Miki say when you told her it was time to move back to the farm?"

"Och, you know how Miki was, Kaito. Not even Mr. Hiirone could get her to do something she didn't want to do. 'No Al, we like it here,' that's what she said. But she and the little one did look good and healthy. In fact, I'd say she'd gained a little, rounded out some, so I knew nothing was wrong. Now if I'd of talked to Gumi, it might have been different. She was a good girl. She'll do what you say. But you know how Miki was. She went and put her hands on her hips and shake that pretty head. She wouldn't hardly let me get out of the boat." Al clucked his tongue and turned at last to hang the bridle on its hook.

_Weak old man_, Kaito thought, _letting a couple of girls tell him what to do._ But he knew, in Al's place, he would have done the same.

When Al turned back to face him, there were tears in his eyes. "I know what I shoulda done, Kaito—I've thought of it plenty of times before—I shoulda grabbed Ppoine. If I'da took Ppoine back before the ice come in, then they'd of come after her and none a this woulda happened. I shoulda thought of that, I tell myself. Every day, I tell myself."

Kaito's throat tightened at that. "It's all right, Al," Kaito said, putting a comforting hand on the old man's shoulder. Gumi was right. No use crying over what couldn't be changed.

_She wouldn't let him get out of the boat_.

That's what stood out to Kaito when he thought about this conversation later. _Why not? Why not give him a cup of coffee, a piece of kuchen? What were they doing on that island,_ he wondered, _that they didn't want Al to see?_ For a week or so it baffled him. He couldn't think of any explanation that made sense.

And then he remembered Kamirei.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>It had hardly been a village, that place he'd stumbled on with Kagone and Hisoka one gray afternoon. A few dirty huts. An empty pigsty. A church without a steeple, one wall blown in. It couldn't have been much to look at before the war and now it was just a jumble of abandoned stone.<p>

Or not quite abandoned. Hisoka came running from behind one of he houses, buttoning his pants.

"There's a man in there! Jesus, at least I think it's a man."

Just then a young woman with raven hair and blood red eyes appeared at the door, her back straight with a hostile look in her eyes. She spoke French and Hisoka translated.

"He's mine," she said. "You can't have him. I'm keeping him. He's mine." And then she lifted what Kaito had taken to be a cane but was in fact a poker, and held it in both hands, point toward them, as if it could keep the three armed men at bay.

They looked at each other and Kagone shrugged. "He's not much anyway," he said,"from what I could see. I think he's missing an ear at least."

"Let's let the fellow be," Kaito said, eager to get away from the place.

"All right by me," Hisoka agreed. "Anybody desperate enough to live with that ought to be allowed to desert."

"Kamirei."

They turned around at the young woman as she pointed to herself.

"Kamirei." She repeated.

Kaito recognized the name, but wasn't sure if she meant it to describe herself, a Holy Spirit for protecting the man, or the fact that it was her actual name. What ever reason, he never told his comrades what it meant and acted like he didn't know when they asked. It didn't seem important to him at the time.

No one could be more unlike that young woman than Miki, but Kaito suddenly realized that she and Gumi and that girl had all been up to the same thing. Although while poor Kamirei was hiding a French man, pushed by years of war to the brink of insanity and perhaps beyond, Miki and Gumi were harboring a plain old shirker, a man who would let others, like Kaito himself, go off and do the dirty work for him, risk their lives while he lazed about letting two women take care of him.

Kaito made a fist around the silver pocketknife and slammed it hard against the table. They'd been hiding a shirker. A shirker whose initials were V. S. Y.

It was an impossible leap and at the same time a simple step form the notion of a strange man hidden in the island house to the certainty that that shirker had even loved Miki. Had she loved him back? Of course not. She had been kind to him, misguidedly thinking she was doing right, perhaps even hoping that someone would do the same for Kaito if necessary. Of course she hadn't loved him.

But the thought itched and it stung. Love made you do things, Gumi had said, and then you were sorry. What did she mean? He worried the idea, tugging at it like a hangnail little by little, until he drew blood, until he had to find out one way or another, until he found himself again in the island house, prying up the floorboards, opening the window frames, rummaging through every drawer, searching for evidence.

Finally, the force that had propelled Kaito all afternoon began at last to ebb, and he fitted the drawers he'd spread around the bedroom back into the dresser. He felt spent, suddenly calm, knowing that he was wasting his time, that all had been innocent on the island, that there had only been a n accident, an unlucky accident, one cold November night. He felt foolish now, as he always did after one of these episodes, and he glanced over his shoulder, superstitiously sensing that someone might be watching—Miki, maybe—and laughing at his frenzy. He left the house and rowed slowly back across the water, resting on his oars from time to time to let the fresh afternoon wind dry his skin. Poor Miki, to have lost all these years and years of glorious summer days.

* * *

><p>~ . . . ~<p>

* * *

><p>"Elbows off the table, Ppoine," Gumi said, passing a plate of white bread to the girl. "How many times do I need to tell you?"<p>

Kaito kept his eyes on his plate. He knew that he ought to correct Ppoine more often, not leave it al to Gumi, but he hadn't even noticed the girl's elbows. "The ham is excellent," he said.

"I'm glad you like it. I knew you'd need a good meal after those ditches."

Kaito shifted in his seat. "As a matter of fact, I didn't do the digging. Pass the potatoes, Ppoine. We watered the new trees in the orchard today."

Gumi's knife made a sharp click as she set it in the edge of her plate. "I thought I explained the importance of those ditches, Kaito." She tapped her index finger on the table top. "My father always made sure the ditches were clean the first week of June, and we're already into the third week now. What if we get a big rain? That field will be standing in water."

"But what if we don't? Those saplings are just drying up out there."

"Kaito, you have to think ahead on a farm. You can't just be running from one emergency to another. You'll never get anywhere that way."

"What happened to that baby?" Ppoine suddenly said. She held her fork in the air, a beet slice skewered on the tines.

No one responded for a moment as Gumi and Kaito decided whether they were relieved or annoyed to be distracted from their argument.

"What baby?" Al finally asked.

"More tomatoes, Al?" Gumi held out the plate.

"The baby we took to its mother," Ppoine said. "How did it get lost?"

"A lost baby?" Kaito said. "Who loses a baby?"

"She must be talking about a lamb," Gumi interjected.

"I'm not talking about a lamb. It was a baby and it was crying, so we brought it to its mother."

"The stork brings the baby to the mother," Al mentioned.

"No," Ppoine insisted,"we did. Aunt Gumi and me."

"Aunt Gumi and I," Gumi corrected.

"Maybe you read it," Kaito said,"in a book."

"That girl, always the book," Al said with a slight smile.

"This wasn't in a book," Ppoine huffed. She pushed her beets around her plate, painting with their pink juice.

"Are you sure?" Gumi asked. "Because I know sometimes when I read a story and then I dream about it, when I wake up. I'm not sure what I've read and what I've dreamed and what really happened."

Ppoine put her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand. She looked over her shoulder at the floor, away from the rest of them. "It was a real baby," she said sullenly.

"I remember walking with you when you were just a bitty baby. You must have had colic something terrible, because you cried and cried," Al said.

Ppoine frowned at him. "No I didn't! I did not cry!"

Gumi's chair scraped back from the table. She grabbed Ppoine by the back of the collar and stood her on her feet. "You apologize to Al this instant, Ppoine Hiirone Shion!"

Ppoine hid her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Al. I'm sorry I shouted at you."

"That's all right, sweetheart."

"Now you go to your room," Gumi said. She followed Ppoine out of the kitchen and watched her climb the stairs. "Ppoine," she said when the girl reached the top.

Ppoine stopped but didn't look back.

"I'll save you some pie."

* * *

><p>AN:

The section with Ppoine and Kiki visiting Miki's grave wasn't going to be in here in this story, but then I listened to Miki's song "I, Disappearing, and You, Being Born", I ended up developing an idea and decided to go on ahead and add that in there. I guess there might be some minor changes, but this one didn't really change other than the fact that that was added and that Kiki was bored.

And I meant for Al to say "Och" for some reason. XD


	12. Chapter 12

A/N:

I really need to be more consistent with this one when I update. |D And I've gotten into the habit of calling Gumi "Megumi" when it's something serious since Megpoid seems a little strange (and I usually use it as her surname). Even though Megumi is her V.A.s name, I still kinda like to use it. ouo

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>"Swim!" the little voice piped just beside my ear. "Swim! Swim!"<p>

I opened my eyes to see Ppoine standing beside my bed, just as she had every morning for the past two weeks. "Let's go swimming," she announced and clapped her small hands together.

"All right, sweetie. Shh, shh, shh, yes, we'll swim."I pulled her into the bed with me. It was in the middle of July now and so hot that even the sheet over my shoulder made me sweat and kept me from falling asleep at night. It seemed I'd closed my eyes only an hour before. "Let's sleep another minute."

But Ppoine wouldn't stay still. She bounced on the mattress and wriggled in my arms and the word "swim" burst from her in a whisper every few seconds. Finally, I gave up. At least the water would cool us.

"Be quiet, Ppoine. You'll wake your mother," I gently scolded her, struggling to pin up my braid but to no avail because of the length of my hair.

"Shh, shh!" she said, jumping up and down on the bed and clapping her hands again.

I went to her and held out my arms and she leaped into them with a final tremendous squeal. I carried her out of the house and down to the water.

We swam, although you could hardly call what I did in the water swimming, in our night clothes, since Ppoine had no bathing costume and mine wouldn't have fit me even if I'd thought to pack it along.

We played awhile in the shallows, me sitting on the lake bottom, letting the cool water lap over the tops of my thighs and keeping my knees dry. I trailed my arms through the water and patted cool handfuls around my neck. Ppoine splashed, wetting us both, thrilled with the sensation of flinging something her fingers couldn't hold and with the sight of the scattering droplets. Then she laid her palms gently on the water, testing the surface tension, before plunging her hands under, where she studied her fingers, which no longer seemed related to the ones she knew in dry air. She grabbed for pretty rocks and laughed when she came up with only a fistful of water, because the stones were so much deeper than they appeared.

Soon she would wander farther out, and I would have to scramble after her. By the time the water was above my knees, she would almost be swimming. I would support her tight little tummy with my palm, but she hardly needed my help. She kept herself afloat, paddling like a turtle, her neck straining to hold her chin above the water, feet pumping wildly behind.

Always at some point she'd scoot away from me. She'd move a little distance and then stop, checking to see if I'd noticed. I'd look away, pretending I didn't see, until she made her way under the willow whose vines hung down to the water.

"Where's Ppoine?" I called. And her laugh would come from the tree. "I wonder where my little Ppoine could be." Finally, I'd pull back the drapery of leaves and grab her up and we'd struggle through the water to the shore.

This morning Miki was standing in the doorway. I set Ppoine down on the beach, and she went running toward her mother. Miki didn't look at her, though. She stared at me as I stood there, my nightgown plastered against my middle.

When I was fourteen and Miki was six, she burst into our room one morning as I was dressing. I had been careful around that time to be sure she was safely downstairs or fast asleep before I changed my clothes, but on that day she caught me. My nightgown was already over my head and my dress was all the way across the room. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes wide.

"Shut the door!" I shouted.

But she just stood there, staring. Slowly, she brought both her tiny hands up to her chest and inscribed two little arcs in the air. She had no words to describe the impossible thing. I was no longer the sister she knew.

"Megumi," Miki whispered now. That was all.

It was my turn to catch Ppoine up and hold her tight against me. I needed her to cover my bulging secret.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>The maple leaves were only the size of a child's palm, but the afternoon sun was hot as July. It had been a whole week of the calender lagging behind the weather, when anyone could tell it was summertime but still school went on interminably, refusing to give up and be done with it.<p>

Kiki and Ppoine, and Yone Mochitsuki and Taizo Zekkyoukoe walked along the sidewalk, not quite together.

"Step on a crack, break your mother's back," Taizo said.

Ppoine worried. Did it count if your mother was really your aunt? She placed her feet cautiously and was relieved when the sidewalk ended and she could move freely along the edge of the road. Yone and Taizo kicked a stone as they went, raising dust.

"Ach, so much dust,"Kiki complained, turning her face away.

Taizo kicked harder then to produce a bigger cloud.

"We oughta do something," he suggested.

"Yeah, let's do something," piped up Yone.

"We oughta go somewhere."

"Yeah, let's go somewhere."

Taizo stopped and turned, waiting for Kiki and Ppoine to catch up. "Do you wanna go somewheres?"

"Where?" Kiki asked.

"I don't know. Somewhere different."

Kiki looked at Ppoine. "We know a place."

Ppoine frowned. "No, we can't, Kiki," she whispered. "My aunt won't like it."

"We'll go without you then." Kiki skipped ahead to join the boys.

Ppoine watched them start down the road together. She was sorry, but she couldn't move from where she stood. She knew she was right.

Ten steps, eleven, twelve, and then Kiki ran back and grabbed her hand, pulling her forward.

"Please come, Ppoine. I don't want to go without you. Please don't spoil it."

And so reluctantly, when they reached the path, Ppoine followed them into the woods. The woods were green, but a tender green, and the leaves were not yet massed into dense, impenetrable walls, but barely overlapped each other at the edges to make a lacy, scalloped green. The stiff branches were sending out new, flexible green shoots, and the dirt path was carpeted with bright little nettles and young poison ivy plants, easily crushed under the children's heavy shoes.

"We have to take the boat." Kiki said self-importantly, resting a hand on the gunwale. "We'll get in, and then you boys push it in the water," she directed.

They did and then scrambled aboard, wetting their feet, but it was Ppoine who fitted the oars into their locks and began to row. It was her family's boat, after all.

Then Taizo slid onto the seat beside her "Here, let me do that," he said and she let him.

Zigzagging slightly, they made their way toward the island.

Kiki had the front seat. "I'll test the water," she announced, dangling her fingers over the side. "Perfect!"

"You know this island is where Ppoine was born," she said a minute later. "And where her mother drowned. That's why Ppoine isn't allowed to go swimming."

Ppoine snapped her head and scowled behind the younger girl's head. She had no business saying all of that about her and her mother to these boys. "She didn't drown on the island, Kiki." she hissed at her, her temper flaring.

Kiki went on, imperturbable. "Well, of course, I didn't mean on the island, but somewhere out here. She might have gone down right here, right in this very spot." She leaned over the side and stabbed a finger into the water.

Ppoine studied the place. You could stare and stare at the water, but you could never see down more than a few feet. A whole other world could be going on under there and you'd never know it.

For a time, when Ppoine was younger, she'd believed that her mother was a sort of mermaid who lived in a house at the bottom of the lake. She liked this idea in the daytime and expanded on it endlessly, giving the Miki she knew from photographs a seaweed garden and neighbors, imagining an underwater post office where Miki would pick up the stones on which Ppoine had scratched messages before she knew how to write. In her sleep, however, this benign vision became a nightmare. She dreamed of hands reaching out of the waves to grab her, pulling her down by the feet, by the arms, by the hair, holding her under until at last she awoke, gasping for breath.

Ppoine blinked now and looked up at Kiki. "No," she corrected. "I don't think it was here."

"Say," Taizo said, resting on the oars,"where do I go?"

They were nearly to the island.

"Go around to the right," Ppoine said. "There's a beach."

They pulled the boat up as far as they could on the little spit of sand and wrapped the painter around a sapling for good measure.

"Hey, let's see the house," Yone said.

"You can't; it's all boarded up." Ppoine told him.

Yone ran ahead anyway and pushed on the door. "It's open," he yelled.

"You go ahead," Ppoine called back to him from the bottom of the steps. "I'll be down by the water." And while the other three went inside, she turned and went back to the lake.

A willow grew so close to the shore there that its tendrils hung over the shallow water, making a sort of house. Ppoine, while she wrapped a vine around her hand and hung for a moment or two to see if it would bear her weight, peered beneath the canopy. The water seemed more still and a deeper green under there. The sound the waves made bouncing against the rocks seemed louder, while the noise outside—the other children laughing and talking—was muffled. This was where a mermaid would live, if there were such a thing. Now Ppoine knew there wasn't, of course.

And then, suddenly, the others were back.

"There's nothing in there," Yone said. "Just a bunch of furniture and stuff."

"I thought it was pretty," Kiki said loyally. "How come it's open, Ppoine? Are you going to move back here?"

"No, not that I know of."

"Maybe some tramp's got in there," Taizo suggested.

"I bet it's a gangster hideout," Yone declared.

"It is not," Kiki frowned. "Don't worry, Ppoine."

But Ppoine, still thinking about the cave beneath the willow, wasn't listening.

Taizo was taking his shoes off. "I'm going in."

"Me, too." Yone said, unbuttoning his shirt.

The boys stripped down to their short pants and raced each other in, shouting when right feet slipped on the rocks.

"It ain't cold!" Yone called. "Come in!"

Kiki was already wading gingerly, holding the hem of her skirt high. "It is, too cold, Yone Mochitsuki." She looked back at Ppoine. "My mother says the water's not really warm enough for swimming until July. She'd throw a fit if she knew I even got my toes wet this early." But she kept on wading, deeper and deeper, until she lost her footing and sat down with a splash. The boys laughed and she laughed with them, pushing her wet hair back from her face. "Well, I'm in now. I guess I might as well swim. Come on, Ppoine! Come on in!"

The others splashed Ppoine and shouted, getting louder and louder as they tried to outdo each other, but when she was still hung back, shaking her head, they lost interest.

"Look, I found the drop off," Yone said and disappeared.

"Let me try," Taizo said when Yone's head bobbed up again.

"Let's see who can swim the farthest underwater," Kiki said. "I'll judge."

Ppoine watched them, the willow fronds draped over her shoulders like a cape.

"You always liked to hide in the shallow water under the willow tree," her Aunt Gumi had said, night after night, when Ppoine was tucked in bed with her eyes closed. She was telling Ppoine one of her stories about "the olden days" to put her to sleep. "And your mama and I would call—'Where's our little Ppoine? Where's our little girl?'. And then finally you couldn't stand it anymore. You would laugh and we would find you. We would always find you."

Ppoine bent to untie her shoes. Slowly, with her eyes on the other three to distract herself and with her hands wrapped tight in willow vines, Ppoine inched her feet into the chilly water. Kiki was demonstrating her strokes now, dipping in and out of the blue-green water like a frog.

Ppoine waded in tentatively into the lake, reviving the forgotten sensation of cool water on her skin, of rocks slimy with algae beneath her feet, of the sun glinting through droplets on her lashes. Deeper and deeper she went, pushing against the gently resisting waves, ruffling the surface with her palm, bending her knees to feel the water rising tingly and soft around her thighs.

"Hey, Ppoine's coming in!" Taizo yelled.

Yone had been showing Kiki how to hold her nose and turn a somersault. "Hey Ppoine!" he said. "You wanna swim? We'll teach ya. C'mon, it's the easiest thing there is."

All three came toward her, pushing steadily forward so that the water made V shapes behind them.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

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><p>Where was she? Gumi pulled the edge of the curtain back as if that single inch of fabric could be concealing Ppoine as she came up the drive. She should have been home an hour ago, and there were the sheep, practically in the backyard when she'd told Ppoine they needed to be herded to the lower meadow that afternoon. Suddenly an idea struck her so hard she nearly staggered. She knew where Ppoine was.<p>

Sure enough, when she reached the lake, the boat was gone. So she would have to use Nero Akita's boat again, she thought grimly, marching along the shoreline around the bend of the bay.

They Akita's rowboat was grimy from lack of use and slugs were stuck to the seats, but Gumi wiped it down with a couple of handfuls of grass and then launched it with one mighty shove. She stepped in so smoothly at the last possible moment that her feet stayed perfectly dry. She rowed hard, until she heard their voices, squawking like gulls fighting over fish. And then, on the far side of the island, she looked over her shoulder and saw them, one small, light head sliding along the top of the water, two boys cheering the swimmer on, and Ppoine in the lake beside them.

How many times had she warned Ppoine to stay away from the water? At one time or another Kaito and Rin and even Nero all had begged her to let them teach Ppoine how to swim. Then she would be safe, they claimed. Then no one need worry. But that was a foolish hope, as Gumi well knew. Ppoine would only be safe from the water if she stayed far from it. And now she was in it, up to her waist, with two boys, their narrow white chests defiantly naked, beside her.

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><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Ppoine heard Gumi's voice before she saw her bearing down on them.<p>

"What are you doing? !" Came the shout, so fierce that Kiki heard, though her ears were half under water, stopped swimming, and let her feet touch the bottom. All of them stared at Gumi, too surprised to answer. "What are you doing here?" she yelled again, clearly aiming the question directly at Ppoine.

"I'm. . .I'm swimming." Ppoine answered.

Gumi heard Miki's voice coming from the water beside the girl.

Kiki laughed. "Well, she's not really swimming yet. But we're teaching her."

Gumi heard Miki's laugh from the water beside Kiki. She looked from one girl to the other. She looked at the grinning boys. Gumi felt rage, like a wave, begin deep within her gut, and then grow until it filled every artery and vein, until her very eyeballs and fingertips swelled with it. She heard her own voice, as if from a distance, mimicking Ppoine's.

"Swimming," she said. "I'll teach you to swim!"

The children stared at her as she began to row stern first toward them. Nearer and nearer she came, with long, powerful strokes that made the water bank along the transom and spill into the boat. First the boys, then Kiki, stepped back and back, and finally turned and ran for the shore. Ppoine, though, stood still, waiting.

Gumi brought the boat right up to the girl in the shallow water, so close that their faces were even, and Ppoine could see how tightly her aunt was holding her jaw. She could see the sweat wetting the roots of her hair. She could see the tiny lines, like little cuts, along the top of Gumi's lip.

"What. . .?" was all she managed to say, before Gumi leaned toward her, holding out her hand. Ppoine took it.

"Get in here," Gumi ordered, pulling her hard, and Ppoine fell forward into the boat, face first onto the seat. "Get up."

Ppoine was frightened—the voice didn't sound like Gumi's. She obeyed, though, smoothing her sodden skirt over her knees, keeping her eyes on the water streaming on the hem of her dress around her feet.

Gumi began to row. She didn't look at Ppoine but kept her gaze on the island over the girl's shoulder. She clenched her teeth and pulled hard on the oars until the veins in her arms stood out like wires. They went farther and farther out into the lake, but Ppoine did not look back.

Finally, Gumi stopped rowing. She lifted her oars to let them drip for a moment before tucking them inside the boat. Then she stood and took a step towards Ppoine. The boat pitched wildly and she gripped the gunwales to steady herself. She stood still until the boat stopped rocking and then came close to Ppoine again. "Stand up," she snapped when she was close. "Up on the seat."

"No. What are you doing? I don't want to." Ppoine protested.

"On the seat, I said!"

Slowly, Ppoine pulled her feet onto the seat under her, and slowly, she straightened her knees. The boat rocked and she crouched, grabbing the gunwales.

"Stand up, Ppoine."

"B-but, Aunt Gumi!"

"I have to teach you, Ppoine!" Her voice was shrill, frantic. "Stand up!"

Even more slowly than the first time, Ppoine stood.

"Turn around."

Ppoine turned. Gumi stood behind her so close Ppoine could feel her there without a touch. "I told you not to go to the water, Ppoine."

"I'm sorry."

"I told you, and you did it anyway. Can't I trust you, Ppoine?"

Ppoine stood defiant. The sun glinted and sparkled on the green water in diamonds and stars, flashes that dazzled her eyes. Do it, she thought. Go ahead. Do it.

"If you come to the water, you have to learn to swim."

Gumi's push was hard, but not so hard that Ppoine could not have kept her balance if she'd tried. But Ppoine did not try. She flew out over the water, her shadow dark on the waves beneath her, and then at last she dropped.

With a rush the water filled her ears and her eyes as it closed over her. It wrapped itself around her legs, around her arms, around her neck. It pulled her deeper and tried to hug her to its bosom. For an instant, she let it. For an instant, she sank.

And then, with a jolt, she panicked. She thrashed, struggling against the softness that would not push back. She kicked and kicked and beat her arms, and finally she rose.

Her head broke into the thin air and she gulped, swallowing a mouthful of water. She saw with relief that Gumi was right there, standing in the boat, looking down at the water, watching her.

"I'm doing this for you, Ppoine. I have to teach you to swim." Gumi told her again. Then she sat down and started to row toward the shore.

Ppoine's panic this time was mixed with confusion. "Stop!" she gasped, and water ran into her mouth again. She whipped her arms and legs in every direction. Her feet tangled in her dress. Her hands pounded against the water. But she knew it was all right. She could tell now that she'd be able to stay afloat for a moment or two, the time it would take for her aunt to fish her out.

But Gumi didn't fish her out.

"Come on, swim," she yelled, holding her oars out of the water.

The boat was only a few yards away. Ppoine kicked and thrashed. She threw her arms in front of her, one and then the other, reaching for the boat. Somehow she began to move forward. The space of water between her and the boat got narrower until she could almost touch the stern. She held out her hand. She reached, waited for Gumi to grab her, to rescue her, to pull her in, but Gumi dipped the oars back into the water, and the boat slid away.

Gumi did this over and over again, allowing Ppoine to get almost close enough to save herself and then rowing away. Ppoine screamed and gulped the green-tasting water; she begged Gumi to stop, to save her, but Gumi only turned her head to get her bearings and to wipe her tears on her shoulder of her dress, and rowed on.

When they were nearly to the shore, Ppoine stopped screaming. She was too tired then, too cold. At last Gumi lifted the oars into the boat. She sat still until Ppoine came alongside and then she smiled and held out her hand. Gumi reached down for Ppoine but Ppoine swam on.

Somewhere on the other side of the boat, a fish jumped. Ppoine heard its body fall into the water with a heavy splash. Gumi heard it, too, and, startled, instinctively turned toward the sound. When Ppoine saw Gumi turn away, she held her breath and went down. She ducked under the water and came up behind the curtain of the willow.

The waves sucked loud against the rocks and bits of sun fell between the leaves and squiggled on the water in bright splinters and specks. She sat on the lake bottom, her knees drawn up to her chin. Through the vines, she could see Gumi staring at the spot where she had been. She saw her face as if magnified, all disbelief and fear.

Then Gumi lunged and threw herself sideways off the boat. One of the oars slipped in behind her. She was flailing then, diving, clawing the water, slapping the air.

"Ppoine!" she screamed. "Ppoine come back!" But Ppoine gave no answer. She wished she could let Gumi save her, but it was too late. She was no longer drowning.

At last she parted the willow vines and moved through the water, not gracefully as Kiki, but in a fury of splashing that nevertheless propelled her steadily forwards. She kicked up a froth behind her, so all of them would see that she could swim.

* * *

><p>AN:

This was done to me when I was younger, albeit less cruelly. But unlike Ppoine, I haven't gone back into the water because I _hate_ swimming with a passion. I'm deathly afraid of the thought of getting into a boat on a lake or the open sea because I'm afraid of falling out and then having to swim. You can imagine how much fun it is for me when my family decide to have fishing trips.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N:

I have a poll on my Profile for which Fics that I've written (the multi-chapter ones of course) to see which one the readers would like to see updated more often.

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><p><em><strong>Gumi<strong>_

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><p>Miki didn't say,"How could you?" as I would have. It wasn't in her nature to do so, and I was almost sorry for that. It was hard having to shoulder the whole thing of it myself, the recriminations and the guilt. Sometimes I felt I could barely crawl forward under the weight of it.<p>

"Who is he?" Miki dared to ask instead.

The thought of him and what we'd done made the bile rise in my throat. "Never mind," I told her. "I'll never see him again, if I can help it."

And if perhaps I'd hope otherwise, if once or twice I'd longed for him to appear an pull me into his arms with a story that would somehow make everything all right, I knew as I said those words that it would never be so.

Miki said very little to me for two days after that, but on the third night she stood in the doorway of my room, tears falling from her face.

"Poor Gumi. It must be awful for you."

"It's my own fault. If I'd done right, this never would've happened." But I cried hen too. What were we going to do, this other one and I?

Miki got into the bed with me, and we slept together as we used to, when she was a baby and needed comforting.

The next morning she told me that she had a plan. "We'll say we found it."

"Found it where?"

"Oh, anywhere, it doesn't matter. Say some girl came to us. Yes, she knew you were a nurse, so she came to us for help. A poor hired girl. But it was a terrible birth. Yes, the worst you'd ever seen in all your years of nursing."

"Only three."

She shook her head impatiently. "It doesn't matter. It was a terrible birth and she bled and bled. And you did your best. You did everything mortally possible, but still, it was no use." Her head and cowlick drooped dramatically and tears caught on her lashes. "And there was no one else, no one at all to raise this poor little thing, so you brought it to me. Because you knew I would be good to it and raise it with my daughter just as if it were my own."

For a while I protested that I couldn't ask for such a thing of her. I would find some other way, I insisted; I couldn't drag her into this. But hadn't I done so already? When I made her come to the island with me, hadn't I been hoping that somehow she would take care of me, the way I'd always taken care of her?

The heaviness seemed to lift when I heard Miki's plan. Perhaps I hadn't spoiled our lives after all. I would be Aunt Gumi to this baby, as well as to Ppoine. I would hold it on my lap and rock it to sleep. I would kiss its soft head and teach it to count and keep it safe from all the world. And I would be safe, too. No one would ever know what I had done.

That night for the first time since we'd been on the island, I knelt with Ppoine and Miki on the green rug beside Miki's bed and whispered along as they recited,"now I lay me down to sleep." I couldn't sleep, however. I was too relieved. For the first time I felt excited at the prospect of this little one, who was rolling and kicking now inside me, as if he or she was excited, too.

"Miki will be your mama," I whispered, stroking my firm, round belly,"but I will always love you." And I did feel that now I would be able to love this restless being. "Go ahead," I said with a small smile. "Dance."

When I'd lain awake an hour or more, I woke Miki. "Let's take Ppoine for a swim."

While Miki and Ppoine splashed in the shallows, I swam far out into the lake. I floated on my back to let my baby rise like a pale little island out of the black water, and I smiled up a the milky white moon.

Afterward I made us a feast—mashed potatoes and bacon and blueberries drenched in cream. Ppoine fell asleep over her berries, but the eastern sky was pearly gray by the time Miki and I crawled, exhausted, back into our beds.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>It had been a mistake, what she'd done with Ppoine, pushing her in the water that way. Gumi tried to tell herself that at least the girl could swim, but she knew underneath that teaching Ppoine to float hadn't been her purpose. What that purpose had been, she wasn't sure, which frightened her. She found herself glancing upward at odd moments. What would Miki think?<p>

She'd wanted to pull Ppoine back to her; she knew that much. Ppoine belonged to her, not to those boys, not even to Kiki. Gumi felt indignant even now, remembering the scene, the children's silly paddling, their shrill voices. She had to shake herself now, three years later, to throw off the bitterness she'd felt. How could Ppoine betray her for those others? She and Ppoine were meant to brave the water together and emerge triumphant from the element that had taken everything from them. Instead, with a creeping sense of disquiet, Gumi felt that the lake might have stolen her again. Since that afternoon Ppoine, who she'd once brought back to life, whom she'd lifted bleeding from the bottom of the stairs, whom the school had to pry from her side, had been slipping through her fingers.

Ppoine was subtle about her escape mostly, only spending more time than she used to in the barn with her chores, taking longer to walk home from school, asking her father for advice when before it would have been Gumi, always Gumi. Someone else mightn't even have noticed the change, but Gumi did. She knew she oughtn't to respond, she knew she should let the girl withdraw—eventually, she would turn back—but it was impossible. Almost against her will, Gumi found herself grasping for Ppoine again and again, but every time her fingers closed they seemed to scratch, and the girl who'd once clung to her as if she were life itself shrank away.

But it wouldn't go on forever, Gumi thought; it couldn't. And in the meantime, Ppoine had brought her Kiki.

"Girls!" Gumi called from the bottom of the stairs, as she mopped her face with her sleeve. They'd promised to help her can tomatoes, and the water was boiling, the kitchen already hot.

She liked calling them, liked the idea of the two of them asleep in her house together, as they should have been from the first.

"Girls," she called again, pushing a note of impatience into her voice. "You don't want to sleep the day away."

Still there was no answer. Gumi climbed the stairs and opened the door to Ppoine's room. When Ppoine was awake, her sixteen year old face, its baby roundness disappearing as its adult bones emerged, seemed almost an affront to Gumi, as if this development, too, were part of Ppoine's efforts to transform herself into someone her aunt wouldn't recognize. Unconscious, however, curled tight, as she was now, she was still the little girl Gumi knew intimately. And here was precious Kiki, also looking younger than her years as she lay sprawled across the bed, one perfect foot hanging off the edge. Gumi cupped her hand around it.

Who knows how odd her Ppoine might have become if she'd been left to herself, shunned by those horrible children at the school? Instead, Kiki's approval had made her, if not popular, at least acceptable, and consequently she'd learned to care what others, besides Gumi, thought of her. She'd begun to curl her hair and smile just like any other girl. She even wanted a bob, no, not even that. She wanted her hair to just barely pass her ears and lazily rest on the back of her neck, just an inch. Although Gumi missed the child, at once frightened and fierce, who'd seemed attached only to her, she knew this change was for the best, and she was grateful to the girl whose foot lay in her palm.

"Wake up, Kiki," Ppoine said suddenly, lifting her head from her pillow and startling the girl so that she gasped and yanked her foot out of Gumi's fingers. "We're up," Ppoine said to Gumi. "You can go back downstairs."

But Gumi went into Kaito's room and made the bed and then tidied up her own room, listening to the girls chatter as they dressed. She was plumping pillows when she noticed Kiki standing in the doorway.

"My mother usually does my hair for me," the girl said. "Will you do it, please?" She held the brush out.

Gumi sat on the bed and patted the space next to her. Her hand trembled as she took the brush, but steadied as she stroked Kiki's hair, lifting it in her fingers, smoothed it with her palm. She held a piece to her cheek and lowered her nose to the crown of the girl's head. But Kiki was getting restless. Too polite to say anything, she squirmed in her seat.

"Shall I do it in braids the way I used to do Ppoine's mother's?" she asked.

"Like in the picture?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"Good," Kiki nodded, satisfied.

They'd been examining the picture on Ppoine's dresser last night, asking Gumi to repeat the stories she'd told Ppoine about Miki. It was a casual picture of the two sisters, sitting on the edge of the porch. Gumi remembered how her mother had stood in the yard with her head bowed over her new Brownie camera.

"Look at me," she'd said, and Gumi obeyed, but Miki had been distracted by something at the last second—a dog barking or a chicken fluttering its wings or just a flicker of light in the lilacs—who would know now? Their mother had thought the photo was a failure because of Miki's inattention and had dropped it in the back of the scrapbook, not even bothering to mount the corners with black triangles.

Kaito liked the picture, though. "That's just like her," he'd said. "And a good likeness of you, Gumi." He'd added kindly. He had the photo enlarged and gave it to Ppoine in a pretty wooden frame for her twelfth birthday, the age Miki had been when the picture was taken, as near as Gumi could remember.

"Where's Dad?" Ppoine asked when they were finally all in the kitchen. Kaito was seldom where he was supposed to be lately, and his absences troubled her.

Jealousy pricked Gumi and at the same moment she burned her fingers pulling a freshly sterilized jar from its boiling bath. "If you'd gotten up earlier to help, you would know," she said crossly. "He went up to Attana with Al to see about a new tractor."

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><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

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><p>Kaito was irritable too. "Wasted a whole morning," he complained when he and Al were driving home. He hadn't been sleeping at all lately, since closing his eyes only opened the curtain on a scene once dreamed, now unforgettable—Miki sinking through a dark abyss, her arms and legs twisting, a loop of her hair drifting away from her face to reveal her mouth, either screaming or laughing, it was impossible to tell.<p>

"Well, what can you do?" Al agreed that the tractor hadn't been worth the price.

"I just don't like to waste time is all. And we need a tractor."

But they couldn't afford a tractor, even if the farmer had accepted a reasonable offer. It'd been stupid to use the gas to drive up and see it. York and some of the others had been talking about dumping milk right onto Serasim Plank Road, not that Kaito believed they'd actually do it, but they all might as well—prices were so low, it was costing more just to keep the cows fed than the milk brought in. Gumi had, in fact, suggested he look for more work for the winter, when the farm, as she said, would pretty much run itself. She liked, Kaito thought, to point out how little he mattered.

But no—he shook his head, trying to make himself see the situation clearly—that wasn't fair anymore. After all, she was asking for his help. She'd started nursing again, assisting Dr. Yue Nagareboshi with deliveries and helping Michiyo Ishimaru recover from her fall, and even Ppoine had set up a stand at the intersection to sell vegetables and pies, minding her "store" after school. He ought to do his part, at least for Ppoine's sake. But he couldn't. Not if it meant leaving, even for a few months. Not with Miki behind every tree and door, teasing him to find her.

He was thinking about the island house. About an hour ago, while frowning at the tractor's gunked-up engine, he'd remembered a space, a little pocket under a loose kitchen floorboard, where a teething ring of Ppoine's had once hidden. It was a place he'd checked, but now he realized that he hadn't examined it carefully, at least he could picture without any effort at all a photograph or a letter slid in there on one edge, so that only if you knew at just what angle to look could you find it. When they got home, he would row out there, look from every angle.

Al rested his elbow on the window frame and gazed at the passing fields. When had Kaito gotten like this, so impatient, so easily thrown off course? It was no use talking to him when he was acting like a horse with a burr under its saddle.

The girls were sitting on the porch shucking corn when the men drove up. She was a nice friend for Ppoine, that Kiki. Kaito worried about Ppoine being lonely, the only child on the farm. It would have been nice if he and Miki had had another. He slammed the door to the truck behind him and went to the pump in the yard to wash up. The cool water made him feel better, and he threw some over his head, raking his fingers through his hair.

"You girls having a good time?" he called across the yard. He went on without giving them a chance to answer. "Aunt Gumi inside?"

"In the kitchen," Ppoine said. "Where's the tractor?"

"No good,"Kaito replied, shaking his head and frowning. He started towards the porch.

In the distance a dog barked, and Kiki turned her head toward the sound.

Halfway across the yard, Kaito stopped. Something indefinite brushed against the edge of his memory.

"What's the matter, Dad?"

Kaito didn't answer. He stared at Kiki, her profile and her braids. There was something strange about her—no, it was something strangely familiar. She turned her gaze on him then, across the yard, and his mind caught a notion and held it fast. He'd never have seen it if she'd been closer, if her hair had not been braided, if she hadn't been sitting precisely there, where Miki had sat the day that picture was taken. He'd never realized that Kiki was Miki, a young Miki with green hair, younger than he'd ever known. She was the Miki in the photograph.

Without a word, Kaito turned and went back to the truck. He got in and backed onto the grass as he turned around. Then he drove back up the road, dust clouding thickly behind him.

The bell jingled over the bait shop door, and Kaito stood for a moment just inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness.

"Kaito!" Rin exclaimed, coming out from the back room. "It's good to see you." She leaned against the counter, smiling. And then, when he continued to stand without speaking, she asked,"Did you come in just to say hello?"

"No." Kaito, recollecting himself, crossed to the buckets and tanks of bait along the wall and peered into them, distractedly.

"So you've finally taken up fishing?"

"No," he said again. But he continued to drift around the room, idly fingering various items, keeping his eyes from Rin. He paused at the counter to her left and began sliding open the tiny drawers in the chest.

"Can I help you find something?"

"Yes. No. I'll take this," he said, lifting from a drawer a hook whose barb had caught in his flesh.

Rin held out her hand for it. "I hope my daughter's been behaving," she said in a way that implied no doubt. "I think it's wonderful the way those two are such good friends. Just like Gumi and me. I wish we had the time we used to."

Kaito interrupted before Rin could go on. "It's Kiki I wanted to talk to you about."

Rin stiffened and closed her palm around his change. "There isn't anything wrong, is there?"

"No, no, no, not that. No, I'm sorry." Kaito held both hands up, shaking his head. "I think. . ." he began, and then stopped. He started again. "There's something about her. I mean, have other people noticed it? Her nose. Her manners. Her hair."

Kaito thought he'd spoken so clearly that, when Rin looked merely puzzled, he felt immediately light, even merry. He smiled. "Oh, I'm crazy. I must be crazy," he insisted with relief. "How could I have thought such a crazy thing? And then"—he pulled his hand over his face, all the way from his forehead to his chin—"to come right in here and shoot my mouth off. Of course you're her mother. Well," he shrugged,"I wouldn't blame you one bit if you just threw me out." He shook his head at his mistake, not knowing what to say next until he discovered whether she was angry with him or would laugh or would ask, as so many had lately, what had gotten into him. And really, it was a question that bore thinking about. Look how he'd been living, letting these ideas yank him this way and that.

Kaito was so preoccupied, he hardly noticed that Rin had been standing motionless, her eyes wide and fearful. Finally she seemed almost to fall forward and clutched the counter with both hands to keep herself upright. "You won't tell Kiki." she suddenly told him. "Kaito, promise me you won't tell Kiki."

Kaito's skin began to tingle. He tried to speak but couldn't find his voice. He managed to raise his eyes to hers, to shake his head slightly.

Rin came around the counter and put her hand on Kaito's arm. "You have to understand, Kaito. She's ours. She never had anyone else, right from the start. It was a terrible birth, Gumi said, the worst she'd ever seen, in all her years of nursing. You know, the poor thing barely lived an hour afterward."

"Wh-who?" Kaito managed to ask.

"That poor hired girl." She spoke as if he knew exactly to whom she referred, as if he were privy to the whole story and they were only reminiscing. "The one who had her. I don't remember whose farm she was on—some place way over by Yashtek, I think. It must have been a long buggy ride, because Ppoine was practically frozen when they got here. It must have been awful. The birth, I mean. You should have seen the blood on Gumi's hands. But, you know," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper,"she couldn't have kept the baby anyway. No husband."

"No husband," Kaito repeated.

They both stood silent for a moment, and then Rin spoke again. She seemed relieved to have unburdened herself. "I'm surprised Gumi told you about that girl and all. She was so definite about keeping the mother a secret. To save the family's feelings, you know. And that was fine by us. To us, it was a miracle to have that baby. That was all we cared about. And I thank God for it every day."

"Was Miki with her?"

"What?"

"Was Miki with Gumi when she brought you the baby?"

"No, Kaito. That was the night. . . Gumi had Ppoine with her. I told you, that poor little girl was ice cold. We had to heat a bath for her, feed her some broth. By the time Gumi got back to the island. . . Miki was gone."

"Why wasn't Ppoine with her mother?"

"I don't know. Maybe Miki didn't feel well? Or maybe Gumi and Ppoine had been over in Cowomonoco together that day. That makes sense if she ended up helping with a baby way over in Yashtek. Anyway, Gumi explained, I think, but I don't remember now. It didn't seem important after what happened."

Kaito felt his legs begin to move him toward the door, but Rin stepped from behind the counter into his way, her face anxious again. "You won't tell Kiki. You did promise."

"No, I won't. I promise I won't." He practically pushed her out of the way in his hurry to get out of the door.

He drove while his thoughts flipped and darted, like a fish on a line. That ridiculous story about Miki disappearing, falling through ice. It hadn't been a poor hired girl who died in childbirth without a husband—it had been Miki. And Miki had had a husband, oh yes, but he wasn't the father of that child. Kaito saw it clearly now. This baby had killed her, this Kiki, the child of this other man.

_V. S. Y._

He slammed his palms against the steering wheel, once for each initial, letting the truck careen until one tire caught the ditch, and he had to work to keep himself upright and out of a field. Breathing hard, he pressed on the accelerator, forcing the truck up the first steep hill of the Bird's Back.

**_Liar!_** Gumi was such a **_liar_**! Did she take him for a fool? But he had been a fool. Despite his doubts, despite his checking, he'd believed her story. He'd trusted he'd never find the evidence he'd felt compelled to search for.

Cresting another hill, he covered his face with both hands, trying to hide from the humiliation. For thirteen years he'd worked Miki's farm, raised their daughter, lived for her the life she'd chosen, when she claimed that she didn't deserve his love. And Ppoine, what did she know? Had she sat on this man's lap, some greasy shirker she'd been told to call "uncle", while her mother, full and round as a melon, perched on the arm of his chair?

The truck stopped at the base of Holy Hill. He got out and climbed the stairs to the cathedral. Kaito wasn't a religious man. He'd not been in a church since he'd been in France, where he'd wandered inside a few, mainly out of curiosity. Still, the atmosphere affected him. The air, cool and still, seemed to belong to a world separate from his turmoil. It slowed him ,and he moved to a pew, where he genuflected, a habit he'd learned as a child, and then sank immediately to his knees. Behind him, an old woman murmured in a steady, soothing drone.

Kaito rested his forehead on his folded hands and felt suddenly tired. The sad fact was, he was starting to forget, he couldn't remember Miki vividly enough to hate her. He thought how young she'd been, how naive and eager to please. She'd been all alone for months, for more than a year. After her parents died, she must have been frightened, not knowing if he'd ever come back. How could he hate her for needing someone to care for her? He knew she would have been sorry for what she'd done. How could he hate her when she'd been so horribly punished?

And V.S.Y., had he been punished for what he'd done to her?

Kaito closed his eyes. There in the dark church, he felt the cold ground that had chilled him through the woolen jacket, saw the pitiless silver bayonets, and heard Seiichi Kagone 's frantic screams cut off by the sound of steel thrust through cloth and flesh, like a knife pushed into a pumpkin, and the gurgle of blood in the windpipe. Through all of this, Kaito had laid still, craven as a possum, but his cowardice hadn't saved him. They weren't fooled. They turned toward him, first one, then another, at last a third. They began to make their way across the foxhole. He saw the snaggled yellow teeth of the one who was nearest, the one who was raising his bayonet, ready to drive it home. And then the shell began to whine. He watched the fear bloom in their faces, as it must have done in Kagone's a few moments before. And then the red.

Kaito's head jerked. He had fallen asleep on his knees. _Get up, get up, get going_, he thought, but he wasn't sure where he ought to go. Slowly, he slid back onto the pew. The muttering woman had gone. He studied the wall lined with crutches left behind by those whom Christ had healed. He stood and rubbed his knees. At the door he lit a candle for Miki, feeling guilty, knowing he should have been doing this all along.

He should have never left her alone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>It was dark by the time Kaito's truck rolled into the drive. Kiki had gone home and supper was long since over. He made some vague excuse about having helped Nero with his corn.<p>

"Next time you ought to let me know, Kaito. We waited dinner for you and then supper, nearly an hour."

"It won't happen again," he promised.

The night air was pleasant, still warm enough to sit outside, and Gumi had settled herself on the dark porch in one of the rockers with a bowl of late beans to snap. She could hear Kaito behind her in the front room, opening drawers. He would leave them open, too—she would have to remember to close them on her way to bed.

"Looking for something, Kaito?"

But he'd gone into the kitchen and didn't answer.

Kaito sat at the table, going through the scrapbook Gumi had shown him when he first returned from France. He examined the pictures of Miki minutely. He wished he had a photograph of that girl, Kiki, although he'd recognized her relation to Miki more by general impression than by an actual matching of features. It was hard to tell exactly how they were similar when you looked closely at Miki. Still, he was certain that the noses were the same shape and the width of the forehead, the set of the mouth. Yes, he was sure of that.

But if having that baby had killed Miki, how had she ended up in the lake? Who'd said that she drowned? Gumi. Who had lied.

Kaito closed his eyes, trying to clear the confusion. Could Gumi. . . ? But to imagine her pulling Miki's dead body onto the ice, cutting a hole to push her through, revolted him. Maybe she did fall in and drown. Who said the baby's mother had died in childbirth? Gumi. Who had lied.

It was hard to think. Miki _was_ dead. She _was_ Kiki's mother. She _had_ been in the lake. He pressed his palm on the table top as he articulated each fact he felt sure of.

Yes, she'd definitely had been in the lake. Someone had found her there. Kaito paged back through the yellowed articles Gumi had pasted in to the book. The paste released its hold as he touched them and the one he was searching for fell like a leaf into his lap.

_**DECEMBER 6, 1919—MISSING WOMAN FOUND DROWNED**_

_**The body of Mrs. Kaito Shion was found yesterday evening **_

_**trapped in the ice on Serenada Lake by Mr. Victor S. Yonné  
><strong>_

_**of 24 Cienna Avenue, and his son, Ron, age five. Mrs. Shion**_

_**had been missing since the night of November 27. ** _

Kaito started back from the table, his breathing quick, his fingers trembling. He was out of the kitchen and though the front room before he could think, before he could stop himself.

She sat in the dark, her rocker creaking, her fingers steadily snapping the beans.

"Gumi," he said. He was surprised to hear how calm his voice sounded.

She looked up at him, and though he couldn't make out her features, the expectant tilt of her head was just like Miki's. Seeing that steeled him. The sisters were in on this together. He demanded an answer as if he were asking his straying wife herself.

"Tell me who Kiki's father is."

"Why, Len Kagamine. You now that."

"No. And Rin is not her mother. I know about the baby, Gumi. Tell me who the father is."

"H-how. . . ?" she began.

"Who is he?" He said it gently but firmly, as if speaking to a child.

Gumi stopped rocking. The crickets and the cicadas were deafening, their insistent chirping pounded like her own pulse. She'd dreaded this moment for so long that she'd almost felt safe, almost felt sure it would never come. She looked at Kaito standing in the doorway; the light was behind his head, so his face was a blank shadow. She knew that so well now.

Gumi leaned forward in her chair. He, who had also lost Miki, would help her. He, who had suffered, would forgive her. She would tell him, and he would know what she would do, how she could make it better.

"Is he the one?" Kaito reached forward then, the yellow newspaper clipping in his hand. He pointed to the name. He would not be too afraid this time.

It was so easy. All she had to do was nod. When she looked up, the doorway was empty, as if he'd never been there at all.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ppoine<em>**

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><p>I was just at the part where Yuuma Yamaha, carried away by the flood, was trying to steer his boat into the current of the Pass, when he spoke to me from the doorway of my room.<p>

"Ppoine?"

"Hmmm?" I could hardly bear to tear myself from the page, so perilous was Yuuma's situation, but I glanced at him and took the strand of hair I'd been chewing on out of my mouth.

He came in, the tails of his blue and black checked shirt hanging loose, as if he'd already begun to get ready for bed. He sat on the ladder-back chair were I hung my skirt and blouse at night. I kept the book open, propped on my knees, my finger on the line. I leaned back against the pillows, waiting to hear what he wanted, but he just looked at me, not saying anything. Then he got up again and went to the window. I stole a look back at Yuuma. Would he be able to rescue his sister?

"Ppoine," he said, turning back to me,"how well do you remember your mother?"

"I don't know. I remember her, I guess."

"You remember living on the island with your mother and Aunt Gumi?"

"A little." I was still thinking about Yuuma. My neck ached with the tension of the flood—I had to get back to it.

"Why did your mother go in the ice, Ppoine? Do you remember that?"

I did remember that. I remembered the ice, so shiny, so black, like running on the sky.

_"Ppoine, come back!"_ My mother called. _"Gumi, bring her back!"_ She howled like the wind.

I stopped, but I didn't go back. And then she was around me, her heart in my ear. She was around me so tight I could hardly breathe. And then we drowned.

"No," I said to my father. "I don't remember. I don't remember anything."

* * *

><p>AN:

So much information! And honestly, I feel bad for doing all of this for the characters. However, my original take of this Fic was worse, a lot worse, for all of them. I'll explain about that once I'm finished with this Fic. Speaking of which, only eight more chapters to go! Just a little more!


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I'll try to complete this as soon as I can, hopefully before June rolls around.

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><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>At 6:30 A.M. on September 10, 1931, Victor Yonné was checking the hybrid alfalfa plants that had germinated at the lake but were now maturing in his little greenhouse in the city. Too bad he'd have to transplant them, but it was well into September, time the family moved back to town. Anyway, here he could continue to work after the frost.<p>

"Mrs. Yonné says to say your breakfast is ready." Abel Kanseine, a new girl Mako had hired as general help, stood outside the greenhouse.

"Look at this, Abel. Five new leaves since Tuesday. Seven, if you count these buds. I think I should count the buds, don't you?"

Abel hung back. "I don't know, sir." Mr. Yonné's projects had always made her uncomfortable, and she'd been particularly wary since the distillery in the cellar blew up in August.

"All right. Tell Mrs. Yonné I'll be right in, would you?"

She nodded and hurried back to the safety of the house.

On the roof of the carriage house, Kaito lay on his stomach, sighting down his rifle. His lips twitched in a sort of giddy giggle. Looking through the glass at this man in his bathrobe, it was hard not to think of fish in a barrel. Though he'd actually never shot a fish. Such a slippery target. Would it be easy? A small stone was boring into this chest and Kaito shifted his weight. There was something to remember about glass houses. Throw stones at people in glass houses?

All it would take would be one shot to the brain, and then Kaito would be off, down the tree into this truck and back home. Where everything would be different. So difference once he'd shot Miki's. . . this man in the red and gold paisley bathrobe.

Of course, he ought to make sure—shout out the name, make him look up, maybe tell him why he deserved to die and watch the fear spread over his face. No sense in shooting the wrong man.

But this had to be V.S.Y. Who else would move with such assurance in a bathrobe, as if he owned the place? Yonné bent over a plant and seemed to stroke its leaves. Kaito thought of those fingers on her skin. What had she said to him? What had she done? Had she worn that light blue nightgown with the tiny silk bows? Had she been shy when he untied them one by one? Had she smiled at him that way? He shifted again uncomfortably. Had she held her hands over her breasts, to censor them out of nervousness and embarrassment? Or had she been different with him, a woman Kaito hadn't even known?

Kaito closed his eyes. He could feel the pinch of the cold metal as he squeezed the trigger, the noise exploding in his head, the recoil punching his shoulder. The blood would spread, red soaking through robe. Dark, wet red. He opened his eyes and aimed carefully. One shot, one clean and quickly over. One shot to the head.

But he did not pull the trigger. There, with the man in his sight, the compelling fury that had driven Kaito out to the island so often, the fury that had taken him to Rin, that had pushed him through the scrapbook, that had shoved him onto this roof, dissipated like gas. He struggled to retrieve it. He reminded himself of what this man had done, of where it had lead, of Miki spent and bloody. But these ideas had no connection to the red-faced man in the greenhouse. Maybe, Kaito thought, if he'd seen them together, seen this man's thick fingers on the translucent skin of Miki's breast, he would have shot him. But it was too late. Now Miki and Victor Yonné came together only in his mind, and his mind wasn't nearly strong enough to make him kill a man.

He lowered his head and lay his cheek against the slate shingles. A moment before, he'd felt no fear, but now his heart began to flutter wildly, as if it had suddenly escaped confinement and was desperate to be away. He could sense the blood rushing through every passage in his body, making his ankles and his fingertips jump, and he pressed himself against the roof, willing himself still. For a few seconds, like a very young child, he even shut his eyes to make himself vanish.

At last he heard the greenhouse door close with the brittle snap of glass, and then the door of the house open and shut. He raised his head and in less than a minute scrambled down the tree, stole across the yard and hurried back to his truck.

From the cab, Kaito watched the quiet facade of the Yonné's house and tried to stop shaking. Except that the brink looked warm and bright in the morning sun, it was no different from the way it had been three hours ago when he'd first seen it in the furry light of dawn, the lives inside undisturbed.

Kaito knew he'd done the right thing. He'd almost killed a man, almost changed everything, but then he hadn't. At this moment, life was as promising as it had been yesterday. Yesterday he hadn't seen that promise, but this morning he did. He'd teetered on the edge of disaster, but he hadn't fallen.

Light-headed with relief, he started the truck and drove west on Terra Avenue, where the sun flashed against a hundred windows and clanging streetcars and honking automobiles hurried him forward in an exhilarating rush over the river and into the solid, quiet residential neighborhood beyond. And then these houses, too, began to thin, and in scant minutes he was leaving it all behind, that city in which lives went hurtling on, and his rifle lay stiff and silent on a carriage house roof.

On Terra Road he had to stop. The tank was half full—he didn't really need gas—but he had to catch his breath and talk to another human being. He had to tangle himself in the lush world, the world in which he hadn't killed a man in a bathrobe.

"Hey," he said to the attendant who came out to the pump—he couldn't help himself,"I nearly killed a man back there."

The attendant shook his head. "This road's treacherous. All them trees. You come up on a horse and buggy around one of them curves and one of you's a goner for sure."

Kaito nodded. It was all right, better of course, that the man didn't understand. Just so he was able to say it. He wanted to shout it into the dappled light with his head out of the window as he flew along the narrow road—nearly killed him! nearly killed him!

Not until he was turning onto Tessa Road did a doubt worm its way behind his ear. Had he been wise and good or only afraid? Kaito knew he was a coward. He kept his terror secret from others, but he couldn't fool himself. Cowardice wasn't the worst thing. It was bad, though, when he didn't stand up for himself, when he'd sluiced the bloody floors for nothing after a day of packing, because Ritsu Namine told him to and he was afraid he'd get fired if he didn't, or when he'd let Miki's father tell him how to treat a horse. No one was gentler with horses than Kaito. He was trying to make it up to them.

He'd been about eight, the day he'd clearly recognized his weakness. He and Ring, who was only four then, a squat child with cheeks blistered by the January wind, a lazy eye and a running nose, were waiting for her father on the platform outside the feed mill, watching the big boys hoist sacks of oats onto their shoulders and load them onto the wagon. Kaito remembered how much he'd admired those boys, and how he'd hoped that he'd be able to carry two sacks at once, one on each shoulder, like Leon Zero, when he was big. When Ring whined about the cold, Kaito scratched a picture of a fat goose in the snow with a stick to distract her. As he finished, she grabbed the stick away and scribbled the drawing over, tossing snow high into the heavy grey air and chortling. Then, solemnly, she handed the stick back, so he could draw something else.

He was curling white smoke out of a white chimney when he heard the man bellowing and the whip hissing and snapping. The horse that appeared around the corner, pulling a coal wagon, was obviously sick. Its head was low and its feet splayed and its breathing came in sharp rents between the raw words and the whip.

"I'll show you!" the man shouted, standing in front of the wagon seat. "I'll show you!" And then, while the whip coiled back through the air, Kaito heard a barking laugh come from the dark opening above the man's red beard.

Kaito cringed and stepped back, as Ring reached her hand into his. The horse, trying to plant its hoof, slipped on a patch of ice and fell to its knees.

"No, you don't." The man leaned back, hauling at the reins, seeming almost to pull the horse back to its feet with brute strength.

But within seconds, the horse was down again, one leg bent awkwardly out, and the man dropped the reins and threw all of of his energy into the sizzling whip, bringing it down over and over and over against the horse's back and then reaching forward, its neck, one stroke leaving a line of blood on the ear closest to Kaito and Ring.

"Stop," Kaito whispered. In his mind he heard the command as a shout, but from his lips it only came as a thin, watery sound. "Stop it," he said again. "Stop." But he pressed himself tight against the wall of the feed mill, as if he were trying to push himself through it. "Stop," he said, but he only said it to his boots and mouthed it into the wool of Ring's cap as she stood, huddled against him, her eyes round with surprise.

Looking back at Kaito once, as if to be sure she understood exactly what he wanted, she stepped stoutly to the edge of the platform. Then she screeched in a voice that sounded as if she were being turned inside out,"Stop! Stop it, now! _**Stop**_**!**"

Her cries startled the man. He paused and the whip dropped limp against his hand. They brought Ring's father and Mr. Matsun and the big boys running. They changed everything, so that somehow now Leon was releasing the horse from the harness, and it was the man who sank to his knees, sobbing, nearly tumbling off the wagon.

"Wife ran off yesterday," Mr. Matsun said to Ring's father and he nodded, as if that meant something.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>But all right, Kaito thought with a serene confidence he'd never before experienced. This time, what did it matter if fear had held him back? He was glad he'd left that man alive. If cowardice had kept him from firing his gun, he was glad he was a coward.<p>

In any case, he was finished with the Miki who'd tormented him. He'd pursued the trail she'd left to the very end and discovered only a man in his bathrobe, puttering among plants, a man who had nothing to do with him at all. He was in the clear now, free of the mysterious wife he would never know and ready to start fresh with the Miki he'd loved settled like a soft blanket at the bottom of his heart.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>When, after a nearly sleepless night, Gumi heard no sound from Kaito's room that morning, she knew her confession had driven him away.<em> Once I'd wanted him to go<em>, she thought bitterly. Now she couldn't blame him, but it made her sick to think that he'd left because of her, that she disgusted him, and, under the covers, she drew her knees to her aching chest and tucked her face, clotted with tears, against them. _She_ wanted to be gone, if, having seen into her soul, he couldn't stand to be around her. Why had she been such a fool as to hope for his forgiveness and expect his help? Things had been fine, just fine, the way they were.

_If only he hadn't asked me_, she thought, thrashing now from side to side in helpless frustration, tangling the sheet and the blanket. If only she hadn't trusted him with the truth. If only they could go back, she would've stuck to her story and she never would've nodded when he pointed to Victor's name.

At last, she forced herself from the bed, washed her face at the washstand and pinned her hair severely. All right, she told herself, pulling the laces of her black shoes tight. All right. But she didn't mean anything by it but a rhythm to take her from one task to the next.

Later that morning, as she did the laundry in the cool cellar, she felt a little better. She thrust the lever of the washer back and forth, mercilessly agitating Kaito's dirty shirts in their grey sudsy bath. All right. If he wanted to go, let him. She and Ppoine would be just fine alone. Just fine. Better, in fact. But a dart of fear made her lose her grip on the handle for a moment. What would she say. If he didn't come back by supper, how would she explain?

She'd say she didn't know where he went. That was the truth. Anyway, he'd been so strange the last few years, going off on his mysterious errands, emerging from the east woods when they'd thought he'd been in the west field, missing meals and acting excited or moping around so dull and distracted that Ppoine should hardly wonder if now he just didn't come back. And Al, well, he'd believe whatever Gumi told him.

If he did come back, how would they live? Gumi sagged over the washtub, beaten down with worry. How would he look at her without remembering what she'd done? How would she look at hi, knowing that he hadn't forgiven her? Could they stand to hobble on, day after day, appalled by each other?

She realized that he might try to banish her. He might see it as his right, his duty even. After all, could he permit such an influence on his only daughter? Of course, she wouldn't go. She had as much right to stay as he did, she told herself, as she squeezed his shirts through the wringer, the farm was half hers. But what if he wanted to take Ppoine with him somewhere else?

_**Let him try!**_ Gumi thought fiercely, feeding another shirt into the wringer's jaws as cold water poured over her reddened hands. Whatever else happened, she would never, ever let Ppoine go.

Around ten o'clock, as Gumi was pinning the shirts to the line, a plume of dust floated toward her along the distant road. She fought down alarm, forcing herself to bend and shake and pin, shirttail to shirttail, arms hanging down, no surrender. She was ready, she told herself, snapping a wet shirt hard into the blue sky, ready for whatever he had to say.

He made her wait. He went into the house and came out again, whistling. He went into the barn and came out again, singing. The next time Gumi saw him, she was looking out an upstairs window and he was cresting the hill in the combine. She put a few of Ppoine's clothes and an extra dress of her own in her old carpetbag, and tucked in the dollar bills she kept in a coffee can. They'd be ready, if it came to that.

At dinner at noon and at supper at six, he said only the things he might have said two days ago, before she'd ruined it all with her honesty. What had Ppoine learned in school, he asked, and what had she sold at the stand, were the late blueberries still coming in, and it'd better not rain tomorrow. Gumi saw him smile at Ppoine and at Al, but she avoided his gaze herself, keeping her eyes on the plates. But then, after supper, when they were all sitting in the front room—Ppoine reading, Gumi mending, Al just sitting with his feet up on the hassock for half an hour before shuffling over to his den over the garage—an unusual thing happened.

"Why don't we ever play these?" Kaito brought up, opening the cabinet under the phonograph.

"Ach, they're so old," Gumi protested, not looking up from the sock she was darning, but he paid no attention, and cranked the handle until suddenly "Alexander's Ragtime Band" came bouncing and tumbling into the room.

And then, an even stranger thing, Gumi thought later. Afterward, she could hardly believe believe it, but it happened just the same.

"Madam, may I have this dance?" He bowed formally and held out his hand towards her.

"K-Kaito. . ." She laughed uncomfortably, knew that her face was beginning to have color, shaking her head. This was not what they did, how they were. What did he mean by it? Was he making fun? But he lifted her hand off the arm of the chair, and she let him pull her to her feet, let him steer her around the furniture, until she realized she was dancing just as much as he.

"Pull that chair back, Ppoine," she gasped as she shrank against Kaito to escape the smack of the newel post.

When they saw that Al and Ppoine were trying to polka to ragtime, they switched partners, so Kaito could teach Ppoine to turkey-trot. "This is the dance your mother and I used to do," he told her.

They took turns choosing the records and winding the phonograph until Al collapsed in a chair, fanning his craggy face with a _Ladies' Home Journal_, and Gumi, hearing the kitchen clock strike, remembered that Ppoine had school the next day and must drink a glass of milk and go straight to bed.

When the house was quiet, Gumi set out plates and bowls for breakfast the next morning, jigging a little as she moved around the table. In the front room, she found Kaito tugging the davenport back into place.

"Here," she said, easily lifting her end and shrugging off the image of her mother frowning at her unladylike strength. Now that the odd dancing was over, she felt even more wary of Kaito than before but wrestling with the furniture helped. "That was a good idea," she said, almost shyly, testing the waters.

"We should've been doing that all along. Saturday nights, at least. We should've had some kids over for Ppoine."

"Maybe so," Gumi said, smoothing the antimacassar on the davenport arm nearest to her. She could feel the panic rise even at the suggestion. Didn't Ppoine see enough of the other children at school?

"I decided something today," Kaito started, seating himself in an armchair and scraping his still boyish hair back from his forehead with his fingers.

Now, Gumi thought, still pulling at the white embroidered edge—had it shrunk in the last washing?—he would talk about Victor and Kiki. He would tell her how she'd have to pay.

"I'm going to get a job."

"What?" The antimacassar slid off the arm and fluttered to the floor.

"My cousin Ring's husband, he's first mate on one of those iron ships. He can get me a good place."

"Oh, a good place. That's good, a good place," she heard herself saying.

"You're right about us needing money," he continued,"I've been distracted and useless for too long here. It's time I got to work."

"You're not useless, Kaito." So they'd pretend that she'd admitted nothing, that he was only taking the practical measures she'd been suggesting for a year. He was making this easier than she ever could've hoped. He was letting her run away again, and this time she wouldn't even have to move. But that wasn't, she saw now, what she wanted. She was bone tired of all this running and hiding, of living alone with a monstrous hump of truth strapped to her back. Seeing him sitting there, one hand unconsciously rubbing the hole in his thigh that she knew had never quite closed, she forgot the hysterical regrets of the morning. She wanted now what she'd wanted the night before when he'd stood in the doorway, pointing at the clipping from her scrapbook, and she'd realized through some silent, miraculous communication of their spirits he'd come to understand her. Again tonight she ached to share with him the events that had pushed both their lives into such lonely paths. She would tell him everything, and then, please God, he would say it was all right; it hadn't been her fault; Miki would forgive.

She edged toward the abyss. "And that's the only reason you want to go? For money?"

"Why else?"

So he would make her say it first. All right. That was fair. She took a deep breath. She would go on. "I thought," she said, staring bravely into his eyes,"what I said, about Victor Yonné . . ."

He threw his head back in a sort of half laugh, rose and went to look out the open window. The weather had changed, Gumi noticed, newly aware of the cool current slipping in over the sill. Summer, worn out, had retreated in a matter of hours, and fall had marched triumphantly down from the north. The air was chilly, and the insects and the frogs, frenzied only the night before, were still.

"It was so long ago," he said to the dispassionate dark blue sky,"and now I can't even remember what she looked like. That's awful, isn't it? I've tried, but now I just can't. Not really. Not more than a glint now and then." He turned toward her and said with touching earnestness,"It's hard to know for sure from so far away, but I believe I did love her. And I think she loved me. But you see, I think she must've changed when I went away. I know she must've been lonely and angry with me, too. Yes, I know she was," he insisted when Gumi shook her head. "She told me so, and she had every right to be, the way I joined up without even telling her because I was scared she'd say no. What I think," he continued and his words slowed as if he were deciphering a puzzle as he spoke,"is that it wasn't really _my_ Miki who had his baby, but some other woman she became, some other woman I never knew. That's what I think. That's what I've decided," he said, almost defiantly.

Gumi felt as if she'd dropped into a bottomless pool and was sinking fast. "Oh God, Kaito, no!" she flailed. "Miki. . . Miki would never. . . No, don't think. . . Miki never. . ." But she couldn't grab hold of the right words.

He was sitting beside her then, and he caught the hand she was, without knowing, beating against the cushion. "Listen, Gumi. Listen to me. I know it was my fault in a way. I didn't have to go so quick like I did. I didn't have to jump at the chance. You were right those times you said I wanted to go. I thought it was the thing a man would do, and I wanted to show her—to show everyone, even myself—that I was a man. I didn't think about what it would mean, how I would get so far away and not be able to come back." He sighed and looked away. "All I'm saying is that I know what it's like to do something, and then later, the reasons why you did it seem foolish. I know how things can change in ways you never meant. And I'm sure that Miki would come back, just like I did, if she could, if the baby hadn't killed her. I know she would."

Gumi sat stunned as much by her silence as by his misunderstanding. Why wasn't she telling him the truth? His face, closer than she was used to seeing it as he sat there beside her on the davenport, looked different, as if it belonged to a stranger who only resembled him around the eyes.

"I realize what you've done for me and my daughter," he was saying. "I know you gave up your nursing that you worked so hard for. It's not every sister who would do that. And I know it's far more than I can ever hope to repay. But I'm at least going to do my part from now on."

_He'd not understood at all_, she thought. There'd been no communication of the spirit, no seeing into her soul. And now she was letting him think that Miki, her darling, innocent, playful baby sister Miki. . . Oh God, poor Miki. Poor Kaito. And along with the pity and shame, she felt a trickle of outrage, shameful in itself, that she played only the most peripheral of parts in this version of events.

"Kaito, listen to me," she began. _My daughter_, he'd said, as if Ppoine were his alone. _Repay_, he'd said, as if they were involved in some sort of transaction, as if she'd not lived every minute there with her Ppoine for love. How tightly his fingers held the fragile bones of her wrist—should they make her feel safe or terribly afraid? _Say it_, she told herself,_ just say it, dammit!_

She put her hand on his to make him listen, and her scar smiled up at her.

"It wasn't your fault," she made herself say."It wasn't Miki's fault at all, never. It was all mine. I let her go."

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><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

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><p>Of course that hadn't explained anything, Gumi admitted to herself the next week, after Kaito had gone to Zetra to meet the <em>Scarlet Moon<em>. He'd only patted her, uncomprehending, and told her again how grateful he was to her for raising Ppoine, and she'd been seized so violently by choking sobs, she'd been unable to go on.

So it was worse now than ever before. She'd as good as lied, now, letting him believe the worst about Miki. Only her vow to reveal the entire truth the very next time the ship docked in Seranada comforted her enough so that she could fall asleep at night. Although, with the reassurance of morning, she always recognized that promise as futile.

In the meantime, Kaito sent postcards from places like Sery and Maynard that Ppoine hoarded in a box that had once held paper collars.

"Where was it the last one was from?" Gumi would ask, deferring to Ppoine when people inquired about Kaito.

And when she replied Sault Ste. Marie or Greens Bay, they snapped their tongues against the roofs of their mouths and shook their heads. "That's a man likes to see the world," they'd say, as if turning circles around the Great Lakes was somehow exotic and suspect. Ppoine hardly listened. She'd begun to realize that people always had to say something.

Ppoine kept her box of postcards in the house on the island. She liked to look at them there, where she didn't have to share them with Gumi, where the smell of his cigarettes lingered and the crazy patches of light on the floor reminded her of how he'd peeled the boards from the windows when he came for her.

On a map, she located each city from which he'd sent a card and memorized the facades and the vegetation on the picture, believing, although she knew it was unreasonable, that if he didn't return she'd somehow be able to trace him with such crumbs. She wasn't willing to lose another parent.

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><p>AN:

I must have a fondness for characters that go on the brink of insanity or something. Though, I feel like I'm being a bit much in my Fic here. *sighs* Well, I'm not going to change anything in here, but I guess that's because it's already so far and I don't want to make anymore add-ons and stuff. ^^" But how's it coming? Is the pacing all right? What about the characters?


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Well Shadowfox, here's something I believe you've been looking forward to for some time. X3

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><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

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><p>People ask about my hand, not just Ppoine, but people who have no business in wondering. They point; they look aghast. It's amazing what people think that they have the right to know.<p>

"What's that?" they say. "Is that a bite? Who bit you?"

My hand could've been bitten at the hospital, back when I was treating those soldiers. You can't imagine how fierce people can be when they're crazy with fear, when they know they're going to die, when they believe that you're an angel pushing them towards the grave.

Kaito never asked. I think he didn't want to know what could turn a person into an animal.

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><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

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><p>"Hot enough for you?" Luki asked, passing Ppoine one of the drinks he'd carried back to the table.<p>

"Mmm," she agreed. She took a tiny sip of the whiskey sour while he settled into a chair. She nodded and kept her smile fixed. She could think of nothing else to say. "Certainly is hot," she said finally.

He beamed, grateful. "Certainly is!" He stood as Kiki approached the table. "Hot enough for you?"

"Never!" Kiki laughed and grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor with a shimmy, as a private wave rolled off her fingers toward Ppoine.

Ppoine and Kiki had gone dancing every Friday night since the new dance pavilion opened that June of 1937. The pavilion was a platform at the edge of the lake, and when the band was playing, the water carried the music for miles. The summer people, who had cottages or mansions along the lake, depending not so much upon what they could afford but on their idea of what a summer place should be, came to the dances by boat, but Kiki and Ppoine, who were "lifers", as Kiki said, came in the Kagamine's Ford.

"You know you've got a big run up the back of your leg? You better go back in and change," Kiki had told her that evening when she picked Ppoine up.

But Ppoine didn't have another presentable stocking and so the two of them sat there for a minute, examining the run, trying to decide if it was really all that noticeable. Ppoine twisted it a bit to get a better look and then—zip—of course, it went all the way up and spread out a bit, too. She pulled the stockings off— she hated the hot things anyway— and tossed them into the back seat. She rolled the window down as far as it would go and felt the breeze on her skin as they drove.

It _was_ hot. Luki was right, if unoriginal. And the velvety, humid air of the dance pavilion was drenched in scent— smoke and cheap fruity perfume, lipstick, shampoo, and sweat layered over honeysuckle, grass, and gasoline fumes rising from the boats' motors. Ppoine's bare legs, which had felt almost racy in the car, now made her self-conscious. When they were crossed, a slick of sweat formed between the top of one thigh and the underside of the other. She tried to keep them beneath the table as much as possible.

These occasions were a trial for her, even though she knew she ought to enjoy them the way everyone else did. The new pavilion was all anyone talked about at Hanet's Business College, and though Ppoine had dreaded it from the moment she first heard the idea, Kiki made it clear she'd have to go.

"Of course you'll go!" Kiki had been taking mental inventory of her dresses, trying to determine whether she needed to petition her parents for something new. "Think of the possibilities, Ppoine. Everyone will be there. Meito Sakine and Kuo Amakusa and all those summer people."

Meito Sakine and Kuo Amakusa were a couple of the boys Kiki talked to sometimes, when they came into the shop before a day of fishing. But they were definitely not, she explained to Ppoine, the fishing type.

"They're sailors," she said proudly,"members of the yacht club. They were talking about racing their A-boats. And they have iceboats, too, I bet."

"What's an A-boat?"

"The big ones, I think. I'm pretty sure."

Kiki and Ppoine had often admired those grand boats when they flocked on Sunday afternoons. They strung out in the fresh wind to cover almost the whole of the lake, pushing the smaller boats, the fishermen and dinghy sailors, to the edges.

"I'd like to ride on one of those," Ppoine often said, and Kiki, who appreciated not only their grace but the gracious leisure they implied, agreed.

From the shore, they gazed through Gumi's binoculars, keeping track of their favorite boats by the numbers on their sails. Kiki liked _V7_, whose deck was sky blue, although she rooted loyally for Meito's yellow one, as well, but Ppoine preferred a sea foam green boat.

"That's Ron Yonné," Kiki told her, and through the binoculars Ppoine could see, when he turned his head, the string that would keep his glasses from falling into the lake.

So that Kiki could get to know Meito and Kuo and their friends better, maybe even go with one of them, maybe even marry one—who knew?—Ppoine, every Friday for the last four weeks, had put on her good dress, the one Aunt Gumi had made for her three years ago.

Aunt Gumi disapproved of the dances. "Why do you want to talk to all those strange boys?" she'd asked that evening from the bathroom doorway. "I know your father wouldn't like it."

Ppoine had climbed onto the toilet cover to see as much of herself as possible in the mirror over the sink. "All right," she said to Gumi as she stepped back to the floor with a heavy thump,"I won't talk." She began to arrange her hair, but when the comb caught a knot and slipped from her fingers, she sighed, exasperated. "I'm only going for Kiki anyway."

"Here. Let me." Gumi picked up the comb and used it deftly to twist Ppoine's hair this way and that. She pinned it roughly, bot taking care to avoid Ppoine's scalp, but the effect was nice. "Such beautiful hair," Gumi commented,"just like your mother's. Aren't you glad you listened to me and didn't cut it just because of some silly fashion?"

Aunt Gumi didn't need to worry about strange boys, Ppoine thought now, savoring the sweet and sour tingle of her drink. Boys and girls, both, were interested in talking only to Kiki. They pulled her away from Ppoine as soon as the two of them walked in and hung on her words, the back feet of their chairs poised inches above the wooden floor, as they leaned toward her, offering lighted matches, pink punch, scraps of gossip, whispering "Did ya hear" and "Did ya get a look," glancing furtively over their shoulders at the objects of their stories. Ppoine leaned back in her own chair with her sweating glass and her fixed smile and listened as well as she could to the music.

When Meito Sakine suddenly appeared, Ppoine watched Kiki pretend to be surprised, pretend to need coaxing, and finally take his hand and, with practiced skill, lead him to the very center of the floor. Gumi was wrong—her father would love this place, Ppoine thought, watching Kiki and Meito fox-trot and remembering the happy night of the phonograph, although there'd been no more of that in the short weeks when he came home. If her mother were alive, she was sure he'd would take her dancing.

It would be nice, Ppoine thought with a little pain in her throat, if someone wanted to take her like that. But she tossed her head. Who, anyway, did she want as a beau? Certainly none of these. It occurred to her then, as it usually did about this time, that she could make a trip to the ladies' room. No one would notice if she disappeared for a little while.

She made her way between the tables and around the dance floor, dodging elbows, saying "Excuse me" and "Pardon me," and when bodies would not notice and did not budge, she would outright push her way through. A girl pealed sudden laughter into her ear; a man stepped back, grinding his heel into her toe; gauzy dresses swirled; necks were damp with sweat; the music and the voices tangled exuberantly. Ppoine pushed open the door marked DOES and slipped inside.

In the cool and nearly quiet room Ppoine went directly to the little bench, padded in shiny pink fabric, that was pushed against one wall under the windows, convenient for any female who might feel a bit faint and require a quiet spot to recover. She kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet under her, and pulled a novel from her handbag. She would finish this chapter, no more, and then go back out and keep up appearances.

She'd only read a paragraph when the door burst open, admitting a torrent of noise and two girls Ppoine knew by sight as members of Meito Sakine's set. They gave Ppoine barely a glance before one went into a stall and the other leaned over the sink so that her face was only inches from the mirror and pushed her hair off her forehead to get a close look at her skin. She frowned at her reflection.

"She's a forward little thing, isn't she?" the girl in the stall said over the sound of streaming water.

"I don't know, Ling. He asked her to dance is what I saw."

"That's what she wants you to see. I know her type." After a moment she added,"You can smell it on her, didja notice?"

"Smell what?"

"Eau de grub."

"I'll take your word for it," said the other girl. She opened a compact and dusted some powder over her cheeks.

"It's too bad we can't bottle it, sell it to the locals."

"Meito seems to like it."

The toilet flushed and Ling emerged and joined her friend at the sink. "Oh, you know Meito and his summer flings. When it's hot, he likes anything in a skirt. He was going on the other day about how cute she was in her little apron, pulling worms out of the dirt by their tails. Isn't that the limit?" As she washed her hands, she leaned toward the mirror and bared her teeth.

"Oh, he's fickle all right. I should know." The other girl crossed her arms.

"Where do I put this?" Ling said, holding up the towel she'd used to dry her hands.

"Give it to her, I guess," her friend said, tilting her head at Ppoine as she started out.

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><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

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><p>Working her way back to her table, Ppoine found herself pushed toward the edge of the room until she was almost squashed against the screen that ran all the way around the pavilion to discourage mosquitoes. Below, the waves washed against the pilings, with a rhythm as steady as breathing. She looked out across the dark water and longed for her father to be there, skimming along the slick of moonlight in the rowboat, his arms pulling, his head turning to look over his shoulder to gauge his distance. He wouldn't care about all these other people. He would be coming just for her.<p>

When Ppoine turned back she realized with a start that Ron Yonné was looking at her from across the floor. It wasn't nice of him to notice her like that, adrift and obviously alone, obviously uninteresting to everyone else in the room. _When had I begun to care about things like that?_ she asked herself angrily, frowning at Ron. He was leaning against the railing, talking to the two girls she'd seen in the ladies' room. What had they told him about her? Quickly, she pressed on toward her table.

Kiki and Meito were trying a sequence in which he spun her right and then left while she stepped together, stepped together, step, step, stepped together backward. It was something they'd seen Moke Zhiyu and Tianyi Luo doing, but it turned out to be harder than it looked. Ppoine observed that now Kiki had caught Ron's attention, although he tried to concentrate on his conversation. She saw him laugh and nod, but continue to glance whenever he could in Kiki's direction. Ppoine, safe in her seat again, examined him carefully as she could without being obvious—Kiki would want to know every detail.

One of the women he'd been talking to, the one who'd given Ppoine her towel, stepped forward suddenly, grabbing his hand to pull him onto the floor. He was just reaching to set his glass on the rail to follow her when Meito spun Kiki so that she careened full force into his outstretched arm. Everyone looked dazed for a moment and then there was a flurry of napkins. Kiki and Ron and Meito were laughing. The woman who had intended to dance with Ron looked less pleased. Ppoine, who'd been watching all of this as if it were a play, was a little flustered when she realized that Kiki was leading the entire group toward her table.

"This is Meito," Kiki announced to the table at large. "This is his friend Longya who's also this girl's older brother. Her name is Ling and her friend Qingxian, and this is Ron." she said, her hand on his arm. And then, beginning with Ppoine, she named everyone on the table. "Now we've all been formally introduced."

Ron smiled at Ppoine and she blushed. Did he know she'd been studying him?

"Would you believe I shot a 76 out there today?" Meito announced to the table at large as he sat down. Several of the others acted suitably impressed and began to offer their best games for comparison. Ppoine was not surprised, however, that Kiki soon dominated the table, although she had never set foot on a golf course. Then Meito danced with Ling and Ron danced with Kiki.

"Now you'll have to dance with Ppoine," Kiki, fanning her face with both hands, announced to Ron when they returned to the table.

"No, let's go out on the boat," Meito said.

Ron barely glanced at Meito over his shoulder."One dance," he told him and held his hand out to Ppoine.

Ppoine would rather not have danced, and she made a face at Kiki over her shoulder as Ron led her to the floor. After all, if he'd wanted to dance with her, he would have asked her himself. But Kiki was already telling Longya one of her stories, sweeping her hands through the air so that her bangles jingled, tipping her head so that her rippling curls brushed her shoulders. Ppoine gave up and turned to face her partner.

"Hot, isn't it?" she said.

Ron was easy, relaxed. He held out his hand to her. He smiled. He looked at her through his round glasses as if she were the one he had wanted from the start.

It was only a fox trot, but Ppoine couldn't get the hang of the music. She tried to touch him lightly, to rest her hand soft as a moth on his shoulder, but she couldn't quite match his rhythm, and she had to cling to him, heavy and awkward, as he flung her to and fro, her hair loosening alarmingly with every jolt.

But then something happened. Maybe it was only that the heat and the drink overwhelmed her at last. She was still clinging to him, but now she moved with him, flexible, smooth as oil. She let him draw her close until they fitted together. She let him steer her and forget herself. She spun and threw her head back and watched the ceiling turn; she listened to the music and let her feet jump and slide whenever they pleased. And her smile was not fixed.

When the dance was over and he'd led her back to the table, Ppoine looked around in confusion; she couldn't remember which chair had been hers or where she'd left her bag. Meito rose, pushing his chair back with his knees. "How about that spin now? We'll have to keep the speed down in the dark, but it's still a good ride."

They herded down to the pier, jostling and jabbering, uncowed by the Milky Way and the expanse of restless black water. Their voices carried from one end of the lake to the other, as if in a massive theater.

Ppoine watched Kiki climb gracefully into the boat and copied as best she could the way Kiki used first Ron's hand to steady her on the dock and then Meito's shoulder to keep her footing in the boat. She scowled as she nearly twisted her ankle on the final step, feeling ridiculous in her heels.

"Careful, there," Ron said.

_It never helped_, Ppoine thought with irritation, _to be told to be careful _after_ you'd tripped_. Her right hand, the one he'd held as he helped her into the boat, was trembling, and she squeezed it in the other.

Almost before they'd found seats, Meito gunned the engine and they shot away from the lights of the pavilion. Suddenly he swerved and Ppoine had to grab Longya's arm to keep her seat. He swerved the other way and she nearly flew into Kiki's lap. Between shrieks of laughter, Ling and Qingxian shouted at him to slow down, but he only smiled and swerved again, this time pitching Ron onto the floor and Kiki on top of him.

Finally Meito tired of this game and slowed the engine. From a little mahogany cupboard beneath the bow he produced a bottle of whiskey and glasses. Ppoine glanced at Kiki, who was smoothing her skirt back over her knees as she leaned calmly against the cushions, and she felt sorry for those girls with their smug cracks about the bait shop. There wasn't a whiff of "eau de grub" about Kiki. Obviously this was her natural element. She'd been born to listen to the rich rumble of the engine, to stroke the sleek varnished wood with her polished fingertips, to hold out her shapely hand, adorned with the tasteful, slim ring her parents had given her to mark her high school graduation, for a crystal glass.

"Let's lie down and stare at the stars," Ling announced, sinking to the floor of the boat. She lay on her back with one knee bent, so anyone could see the smooth stretch of her thigh.

Ppoine looked away, embarrassed for her.

"C'mon, get up, Ling," Longya said, offering her his hand, but she batted it away.

"Wait! I can hear the water!" she cried, pressing her ear against the floorboards. She sat up suddenly, grabbed Ppoine's hand, and tried to pull her down beside her. "Listen! Turn off the engine, Meito!"

Meito did as he was told and after a moment's struggle to stay in her seat, Ppoine gave up and lowered herself to the floor.

"Listen!" Ling commanded and Ppoine tensely pressed her ear to the wood. Through the polished floorboards she could hear the water slapping and sucking, worrying the wooden hull, trying to get in.

Above her, Qingxian's voice rang. "Know what I heard about that place?" Her ears still full of the suck and slap, suck and slap, Ppoine watched Qingxian point over the water. "Some woman drowned her baby on that island during the war. You're supposed to be able to hear it crying late at night. Is that true?" She looked at Kiki, then down at Ppoine. "You ever hear it?"

"No!" Ppoine sat up abruptly. "Of course not. That's crazy!" But she could hear a baby crying in her mind even now, the thing wail that grew more and more distant but never disappeared. She closed her eyes to shut out the sound, but it persisted and, though her ear was no longer against the floor, she could feel the water, its wet tongue in her ears, in her eyes, embracing her, pulling her down.

She opened her eyes, but the stars raced toward her and she felt as if she were spinning uncontrollably through space. Her insides rose to her throat in a wave. She scrambled onto the seat and was sick over the side.

Everyone was extremely kind.

"It's the heat," Qingxian said. "I feel a little green myself."

"It's because Meito was bouncing us around," Ling accused. "I told you not to drive like that."

"Well, you shouldn't make people lie on the bottom of the boat," Meito countered.

"You're right," Ling admitted. "I'm sorry, Ppoine."

Ppoine took the hankie Kiki offered and blew her nose. "It's all right, I'm all right now. I guess I"m just not used to so much to drink."

"If Meito didn't serve such cheap stuff," Ron piped up,"this kind of thing wouldn't happen. I got sick last week on his gin."

Ppoine tried to smile at him, but her lips trembled and her arms were shaking so much she had to cross them over her chest to hold them still.

"You're cold!" Ron exclaimed. "Hasn't anyone got a jacket?" He went to the bow and returned with a towel left over from that afternoon's swimming. "Come up front with me, why don't you?" he said, gently draping the towel over her shoulders. "The air's fresher away from the motor. You'll let me drive for a while, won't you, Meito?"

"Sure," Meito said, settling into a back seat between Ling and Kiki. "Take it around by your place. Let's see if anyone's up."

Ron started the engine and turned on the running lights with a twist of the silver knob. The inboard began its soothing blub-blub-blub, but Ppoine still shivered. In every direction, the water rippled like black crepe. IF she dove in here, could she make it to the shore?

"So how long have you been coming out here?" she asked to calm herself.

"Oh, years," he answered. "The first time was just a few days after the war ended. I must have been about five and my dad brought me out when he was thinking of buying the land. That was when he planned to raise geese on it, you know, for feather beds. He thought they'd like being close to water." Ron chuckled. "He always had these crazy schemes."

"But then he built a house instead?"

"Well, not instead, exactly. We did have the geese and after that racing pigeons and then goats, until he converted the shed into a photography studio. He thought he had a quick way to develop film, but it didn't work out. Gave everybody a doppelganger. At the moment, he's revolutionizing the iceboat." He pronounced "revolutionizing" in a mocking tone.

"So you don't think much of his ideas?"

"Oh no, they're good ideas. He's bursting with good ideas. It's just that bursting makes a mess, and somehow he's never around when it comes time to clean up.

"I've seen you in town before," he went on after a moment or two,"with your mother."

"That's my aunt. My mother died years ago." And then somehow, she felt like telling him more, maybe because he'd said so much about his father. "She drowned, actually. She fell through the ice."

"Here? On this lake?" Ron stared at Ppoine, remembering the stinging gusts of a long-ago winter day.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Now over here. Now just from here to there," his father said, positioning five year-old Ron. And Ron stood and stood, inhaling the smell of wet wool as his scarf trapped the clouds of his breath. He was proud to be helping, although his feet were freezing and his fingers numb. He held one end of a piece of string while his father paced deliberately around the property with the other end and stopped now and then to record numbers in his little book. Finally he said,"Enough. You can play now. I'm just going to the car for a minute."<p>

The ice was on the lake, a black sheet of it, lightly sugared with snow, upon which iceboats swooped and darted in the whipping wind, capricious as summer butterflies. Ron hadn't been able to take his eyes off the frozen lake all the time he was standing, holding his string. It was fascinating. It tempted him to walk on water.

Released from his duties, Ron stepped onto the lake. His right boot slipped immediately, but he caught his balance and shuffled forward a few steps toward a cluster of fishing shanties hunched against the cold. How deep the ice seemed to go, so deep he couldn't see where the frozen part ended and the water beneath it began. He fell on his knees for a closer look and bent forward, his mittoned hands splayed in front of him, his nose almost touching the lake.

He studied the ice, the bubbles and fissures, the occasional leaf or frond of seaweed suspended in it, the clear patches that seemed to go down and down forever. Where were the fish? He crawled forward on his knees with no notion of where he was going, drawn on by the ice itself.

A rumbling warned him that an iceboat was coming close, and he looked up to see it hurtling toward the shore. Just when he was sure it would crash full speed into the rocks, it spun around, runners scraping, sail luffing, until—fwoom—it caught the air and and shot toward the middle of the lake again. As it flew past, two masked faces turned toward Ron, and a hand in a three-fingered glove rose stiffly in greeting. Ron waved and chased them for a few yards.

When one of his feet slid, he looked down instinctively, throwing his hands out to break his fall. If the lady had not been entombed in ice, he would have landed in her arms. He first saw the swollen grey hand and then the arm, the purplish fabric in folds, and finally the face. It was turned toward him, the red eyes staring, the mouth open, screaming without sound, trapped in that bottomless black hole.

He tried to get away, tried to rise and run, but his feet slipped and he fell back in the same spot, as if the hand had grabbed his boot and pulled him down. He managed to slide forward, finally, by staying on his knees and crawling, and in that manner he made his way as fast as he could to the shore.

Once his feet were on solid ground, Ron began to scream, and he ran up the hill toward the car, screaming every second he wasn't drawing breath. When his father snatched him up, Ron buried his head in his huge shoulder, trying to blot out the face that was calling him from under the ice.

"What?" his father asked, first alarmed, then soothing, then irritated. "Did you fall? Did you bang your head? Are you hurt? What? What in the hell's the matter with you?"

Ron pressed his eyes until they ached against his father's collarbone, and finally he managed to point without looking back toward the water. Ron's father put him down and they walked to the edge of the ice. There Ron stopped and when his father took his hand to draw him on, leaned back with all of his weight.

"All right, stay here then," his father said impatiently. "Don't move. I'll be back in a moment."

Ron watched his father, arms slightly raised, shuffle and slide along the ice, following the trail Ron's knees had left in the light snow. He saw him stop, reel back, catch himself, and then lower himself slowly to his knees. He saw him brush at the powder with his glove. Then he stood up again and made his way back.

"How did the lady get in the ice?" Ron asked when his hand was safely within his father's again and they were trudging up the hill toward the car.

"I don't know."

"Shouldn't we get her out?"

"The sheriff will do that, Ron."

The sheriff came out of his house with a napkin tucked into his trousers. He leaned into the car and winked at Ron. "We know who it is. We'll find her."

So they left the lady in the ice.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>"That's it," Ron said, pulling back on the throttle before a wide lawn, grey under the night sky, that ran steeply up to a white house fronted with looming pillars.<p>

"Lovely," Kiki breathed, pretending, Ppoine noticed, that she hadn't often stared from a rowboat at that facade and speculated about the lives inside.

"When are you going to have another party, Ron?" Ling asked. She stepped onto the seat behind Ron, as if to get a better look, and rested her hands on his shoulders for balance. "The one you had last year was the best of the season. Don't you remember, Qingxian? Swimming in the afternoon and then the dance floor over by the boathouse. And, Longya, remember when Midori pushed you off the pier?" She laughed somewhat more wildly than the memory warranted. "Oh, Ron, you have to promise me you'll have another," she said. "You must or the whole summer will be wasted!" She leaned close so that her sculpted hair brushed his cheek. "You promise?"

"Anyone ever tell you there's a depression going on?" he deadpanned, tipping his head toward to meet hers with a sardonic grin.

"Well then, we need something to cheer us up!" she returned with a flirtatious grin of her own.

"Say, are we gonna sit here all night?" Meito interrupted. "Let me take the wheel."

And so they rearranged themselves, Meito and Ling taking the seats up front; Kiki, with a lift of her eyes and a slight shift of her skirt, inviting Ron into the place that Meito had given up, and Ppoine sliding in next to Luki. Qingxian and Longya, who'd begun whispering to each other, stayed together in the back.

"Not so hot out here," Luki said.

"No." Ppoine smiled at him. Good old Luki. "It's not bad out here at all."

Meito pushed the throttle forward suddenly then, and they raced smoothly through the black water, following their own tiny white beam. Greedily, Ppoine leaned into the rushing warm air.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>I was digging a few onions out of the garden, squatting in the dirt somewhat awkwardly because I couldn't bend, when what I assumed was an acorn dropped on my shoulder.<p>

"Hey!" I said, looking into the trees. Another one bounced off my arm. When it rolled into the dirt, I saw it wasn't an acorn but a marble.

"Inside!" Miki hissed from a window. "Quick!"

"What is it?"

"Shhhh. Big Al," she mouthed.

Quickly, I scanned the water. Yes, there he was. His back was to us as he rowed, but only a couple more pulls on the oars and he'd be dragging the boat onto our beach.

the screen door slammed and Miki, with Ppoine glued to her hip, hurried down to the water. Keeping as low as I could, I scuttled for the back door.

I watched from one of the front windows as they talked, watched Al throw Ppoine into the air a few times, saw him heft a couple of filled burlap sacks from the boat. When he started carrying one of them toward the house, I bolted. I ran out the back door again and locked myself in the outhouse.

If, over the last month, I'd forgotten that my situation was a shameful one, I couldn't help but remember it now as I breathed that stink and peered at the back of the house through the moon-shaped cutout in the door.

I didn't come out until I saw Miki, obviously searching for me. She grabbed my arm and shook me."You scared me half to death, Gumi! I was afraid you might have gone to the lake."

That night for the first time in the season the wind shifted to the east and the temperature dropped. I tucked wool blankets around Miki and Ppoine and then spread one of my own bed. It felt heavy after the summer of cotton and sheets. After I got under it, it seemed to pin my arms and legs to the bed and press me into sleep.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>At Hanet's Business College, Ppoine and Kiki learned to write shorthand and work the machines. Kiki was good at these things. In two weeks she could type without looking at her fingers. In four weeks she could take a two-page letter from dictation without faltering. And, of course, the accounting was simple from the start. The assignments she turned in were always neat, the white pages clean and unwrinkled, the ink unsmudged.<p>

Ppoine, on the other hand, was foundering. Kiki had convinced her that secretarial skills were important, but she missed the job she'd given up at the five-and-dime. She couldn't seem to type two lines before he mind wandered or her fingers disobeyed and punched the wrong keys. It was impossible to remember how many spaces went between the return address and the date, the date and the internal address, the internal address and the greeting. _Who cared, who cared, who cared?_ she thought, tugging at a paper the typewriter refused to release. When she got behind in typing, she kept up with the rhythm of the class by hitting any old keys. While she was supposed to be taking letters about how much Mr. P owed to Mr. Q and in what increments he intended to pay, she sketched tiny figures wearing complicated hats in the margins of her paper. Kiki agreed that some of them turned out rather well.

"Don't worry," she said, leaning over to correct Ppoine's shorthand when the Hanet's were distracted,"you're the creative type."

Kiki had decided that she and Ppoine were going to be modern women. When they finished school they would open an advertising agency together in Rhoe. She would see to the business side and decide on the angles—she knew what made people ant things. Ppoine would do the art and write the copy. Kiki was not sure how they would get commissions, but she had vague notions of businessmen in grey suits and horn-rimmed glasses raising their eyebrows in admiration at the originality and style and sheer selling power of their sample ads.

Ppoine suspected that Kiki had seen this in a movie. The idea made her anxious, but if Kiki wanted it, she was willing to do her part. She practiced her drawing, experimenting with different techniques she saw in the magazines. She did pen-and-ink renderings of ladies' shoes and watercolors of fruit and charcoal sketches of families frolicking by the seashore under enormous beach umbrellas cut from brightly colored paper. She liked to imagine the apartment they would have together in the city, where friends would stand in the street under the window and whistle for them to open the door. They would shop for groceries on their way home from their office, and they would sing along with the radio while they made chicken cacciatore and salads with tiny mushrooms.

"I'm wrecked, absolutely wrecked!" Kiki announced when class was dismissed for lunch that Monday. "I'll never be able to wear those shoes again." She flexed her pretty ankles before swinging her feet under one of the tables pushed beneath the windows in the typing hall.

"What did you do this weekend?" asked Namida. She knew what was expected of her. Ppoine and Kiki often ate lunch with Namida and Jei, two friends from Glancy.

"We went to one of those dances, you know, over at the pavilion."

"Oh, a dance." Jei winked in a knowing way that Ppoine disliked. Jei was older than the rest of them and divorced. She was always hinting at something dirty. "Anyone interesting there?"

"No," Ppoine answered quickly.

"Yes," Kiki contradicted. "Ppoine met someone interesting."

"You don't say. What was he like, Ppoine?" Namida leaned so eagerly over the table that some of the egg salad dropped out of her sandwich.

Ppoine was trying to finish her homework for that afternoon, two pages of shorthand she'd neglected over the weekend. "He wasn't anything special, Nami. He liked the way Kiki danced, but who doesn't?"

"When are you going to let me do something with your hair, Ppoine?" Jei asked, offering cigarettes around before lighting her own. "Men would like the way you danced, too, if you didn't look like an old-fashioned schoolmarm."

"Jei can do hair, Ppoine," Namida said. "She does mine, you know, the cut and the wave." She turned to show off the back.

"And the color," Jei added. "Under that henna, Nami's got hair like a mouse."

"It's true, I do."

There was something of the little girl with the black tooth in the way Ppoine looked at the two friends, as if they were the oddities and not she, but now she smiled, as she would never have done before. After all, they were only trying to help, she understood that.

"My aunt likes it this way," she said. "It doesn't bother me."

The office door at the back of the room opened and a young Mr. Hanet, the typing teacher, stepped out and strolled slowly through the classroom with his hands in the pockets of his smartly cut trousers. He was known as "young" Mr. Hanet to distinguish him from his father, the school's founder, but he was hardly young by Kiki and Ppoine's standards. He'd had ambitions once and pursued them to Serenada, but had been somehow disappointed. He combed his hair back to show its curl to advantage and kept his nails manicured. While other teachers rolled up their shirtsleeves and smudged chalk on their ties, no one could imagine young Mr. Hanet shedding his jacket during the school day. Kiki said that was because he couldn't bear to be separated from the flask in the pocket.

"How're my girls?" he asked, resting one hand on Kiki's shoulder, the other on Ppoine's, and leaning between them to put his face next to theirs. He took a paternal stance toward his female students as an excuse to touch them and to stroke their hair. Ppoine twitched almost involuntarily like a horse with a fly on its neck. She closed her notebook and studied its cover, biting down her tongue to prevent herself from saying something particularly nasty and waiting for him to move on.

Kiki, though, looked him full in the face and nodded briskly. "Ppoine needs to finish her work," she told him. "Was there something you needed?"

Mr. Hanet straightened his back. "No, no," he said. "I'm off for my coffee break." He removed his hand from Kiki's shoulder and to compensate gave Ppoine's a little squeeze. It took all of her willpower to not want to turn around and a lay a good one on his face with her notebook.

Kiki rolled her eyes at his retreating back. "Coffee, I'll bet." She turned her attention back to the table. "I wonder if Ron will be at the dance this week. Did he say anything about it to you, Ppoine?"

"I already told you everything he said to me," Ppoine reminded her without looking up. She slid her notebook in front of Kiki. "Show me how to do 'ough' again. I can never remember."

"You could remember if you tried," Kiki said impatiently7 but she took the pencil Ppoine held out to her.

The woman who stepped into the room just then wore an olive-colored suit and a hat that wasn't the usual cloche, but a new style with a feather, angled to hide half her face. "Would you please tell me where I could find Mr. Hanet?"

"Young Mr. Hanet or old Mr. Hanet?" Namida piped up.

The woman hesitated. "I don't know, I want to hire a secretary."

"Then you'll want to see old Mr. Hanet," Kiki said. She was already on her feet. "I'd be happy to show you to his office."

"Did you see her shoes?" Kiki whispered as she slid back into her seat.

When the woman emerged from the office, she glanced toward the table and raised her hand to Kiki, who waved back.

"What did you say to her?" Ppoine asked.

"Oh, I don't know." Kiki shrugged. "Just something about how much I've learned here."

"But you're only on Level Two!" Namida protested.

"I type faster than most of the people on Level Four. Besides, she wants someone gracious and sensible to answer her telephone and make appointments and keep her schedule in order. I'd be good at that. Wouldn't I, Ppoine?"

_Gracious and sensible_, Ppoine thought, _those weren't Kiki's words_. But they did describe her, part of her anyway.

Mr. Hanet came out of his office with a notice and tacked it to the board.

HELP WANTED:

_Personal secretary. Typing, filing, some dictation._  
><em>Must have good telephone manners.<em>  
><em>No experience necessary.<em>  
><em>Mako Yonné (Mrs. Victor),W 290 N3040 Cienna Avenue<br>_


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I totally failed that promise. |D

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>"Ppoine, I've got to get you in that house!"<p>

Kiki had stopped to see Ppoine and Gumi on her way home from her first day at work at the Yonné's.

"Are you riding your bicycle tonight?" Gumi asked. "It'll be raining in an hour."

"Oh, no, my parents let me take the Ford. I thought it would make a better impression. But let me tell you about this place!"

She pulled Ppoine down beside her at the kitchen table and described the rooms Mrs. Yonné had shown her that afternoon, sketching their positions with her finger on the oilcloth, and recalling as well as she could the colors and fabrics and furnishings.

"Two fireplaces, what a waste!" Gumi commented. "What's the use of two fireplaces?"

"Well, it's a big room. There's one at either end, you see, so you can use just half the room for an intimate evening or the whole thing for a grand party. And she calls it the living room. Don't you think that's a much better term? So much more. . .I don't know. . .lively than front room. Of course, the whole house is quite rustic compared with their house in town."

"Of course," Gumi noted dryly. "Kiki, Ppoine tells me that you've quit Hanet's to do this job. I thought you girls were working toward something better than typing some woman's letters. I thought you were going to be advertisers." She held a plate of coffeecake in front of each of them in turn.

Ppoine started to take a piece, but Kiki stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "Wait, Ppoine. Try this." From her pocketbook she pulled a smashed triangle of layer cake wrapped in her hankie. "I smuggled it out for you. Isn't it scrumptious? Mocha." She pronounced the word carefully. "The Yonné's cook is from Austria. Did you know Austrians make the best pastry? I'm learning so much from Mrs. Yonné. She's the president of all sorts of committees. She's even on the board at that hospital you used to work at, Miss Hiirone.

"Ppoine, you'll never guess what we had for dinner—lunch, I mean—cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off and iced tea with a spig of mint in it. It tasted so fresh that way. Mrs. Yonné says you must grow a patch of mint near your house for iced tea. And you know what she put on the plate—just for decoration, although you could eat them? Wild strawberries—you know, those adorable tiny ones? Garnish makes the plate, that's what Mrs. Yonné says."

"What's the point of putting something on your plate that you're not going to eat?" Ppoine asked.

Gumi breathed deeply to steady her voice. "So where was Mr. Yonné while you were touring his house?"

"Oh, he was up in Moore County, doing something with ships, I believe. Ron went with him," Kiki added for Ppoine's benefit.

The _Scarlet Moon_, Gumi recalled with relief, was headed for Barron, nowhere near Moore County.

"Well, Kiki," she started, "it all sounds very exciting, but hadn't you better be running along?" She forced herself to smile. "We don't want your mother to think we've kidnapped you."

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>It went on like this, week after week, Kiki modeling a hand-me-down cashmere sweater Mrs. Yonné had given her, choosing new stockings to match her employer's shade, and speaking with an infliction she'd never used before. Once, when Ppoine wasn't at home, Kiki left a note for her. The message was not written in her usual compact, slanted scrip; instead the words were up and down, full of curves and loops and fat round letters.<p>

_The girl is possessed_, Gumi thought, holding the page to the light. But she knew that what gnawed at her was only jealousy.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>The baby was strong now, stronger than I was. It had made me into its creature, with swollen breasts and massive belly, over which the skin stretched slick and tight like the peel around a currant. It demanded all of my body's attention, all of my food, all of my sleep. It exhausted me.<p>

I heaped quilts and pillows on the davenport in the front room, and it was all I could do to lumber from my bed in the morning to that spot where I spent most of the day, looking through the glass at the undulating lake, a clean blue space between my tangled nest and the brown, yellow, and read patchwork of the shore. Swimming was out of the question now. Propped uncomfortably in my cocoon against the cold wall, I could see that the deep blue of the water was unnaturally gorgeous. It was slippery and unstable. It was not to be trusted.

I tried to read an old newspaper, but my mind wouldn't take in the words. I let the pages slide to the floor in a slovenly heap. Without my energy, the whole place was falling apart. The garden had gone to seed. The squash, potatoes and onions were buried in weeds. The little room where Ppoine slept was strewn with sticks, colored leaves, rocks, and even seaweed, as if the outside had crept in, too, and Ppoine seemed always crouched in some corner poking at a daddy-long-legs with her fingertip.

"Ppoine, stop that!" I said, seeing she was at it now. "Here, let's wash your face."

I hefted myself off the davenport and tromped heavily into the kitchen, Ppoine pitter-pattered behind me. I picked up the dish towel, meaning to wet it at the sink, but it was already damp and crusted with flour in patches.

"Oh, Ppoine," I sighed, sinking into a chair. "What have we come to?"

"Outside," she said. "Wanna go outside."

"All right. Let me button your sweater." I kissed her forehead and opened the back door for her. "Be careful. Don't go near the water."

I kept an eye on her from the window and moved desultorily around the kitchen, trying to make sense of the mess we'd let accumulate there.

"Miki!" I called once, just looking for company. But then I remembered she'd gone to the farm.

I picked up a pile of books and papers she'd left drift into a heap on the counter. Really, reading material did not belong in the kitchen. I carried it into the front room, but all the surfaces there were already covered, so I took my load to Miki's room and dumped it on her unmade bed. This way, at least, she would have to take care of it before she went to sleep.

I glanced out the window, then, for Ppoine. I didn't see her in the back. I looked out the side window, searching the garden up and down for her red sweater. Nothing. I hurried to the front. There she was, standing on some rocks, leaning over the water.

"Ppoine! Come back here!" But she didn't budge, didn't even seem to hear me. Despite my unwieldy body, I was down at the shore before I was even aware that I'd even left the porch. If she'd been falling in, I'd probably have caught her before she hit the water, but she wasn't falling in. She was just stirring the lake, making whirlpools with a long stick.

The rocks were pleasantly warm in the sun, although the air was chilly and I sat down next to her, every so often wrapping one hand around her let to steady my shaky nerves. The water rose and fell between the rocks. I couldn't take my eyes off the ebb and flow. Until I noticed the bit of white. It was stuck between two rocks and had not yet slipped far enough for the water to drag it away. I reached for it, but my fingers wouldn't fit.

"Here, Ppoine, let me borrow your stick for a moment."

Wedging the stick between the rocks, I managed to work the white paper out far enough to pinch it up. It was an envelope addressed to Kaito. Miki must have dropped it when she was getting into the boat. Of course, I knew what I ought to do and seven months ago I would have given it, unopened, to Miki upon her return.

But now I was different. Now I was tempted. Now I had to know what Miki had written about me. Why should I give it back to her? _If I hadn't happened to find it_, I told myself—that's the way I thought in those months—_maybe it was waiting here for me._

In a way, I made myself forget about Kaito. After all, far away as he was and very likely to be killed, he had very little to do with us. What I'd imagined when I thought of Miki raising my baby was something very much like what we were doing now, except with four instead of three. My baby would be both mine and Miki's, just as Ppoine was now Miki's and mine. In the family I envisioned, there was no place for Kaito, for squeaking bed springs, for private smiles, for suppers with applesauce or ice cream instead of rhubarb to please a man who had to have everything cold and sweet.

But Miki, clearly, did not feel as I did.

In the letter she told him everything, everything I'd done, everything we'd planned.

I was shocked. I saw myself there on the page, the facts of my foolishness and my shame in Miki's neat, black letters. I couldn't stand to look at it. And I couldn't stand for him to see it, Kaito with his talk of horses and ice cream, and his smooth dance steps and his birdhouse. I didn't want him to have any part of it.

In the letter, too, I could see that with him she was not herself. That was almost the worst of it. On the pages she'd meant for him, her voice seemed different from the one I knew, not only in the things she'd meant to keep private—that I wouldn't have minding so much—but in her everyday observations as well. I could hardly catch a hint of my Miki in that letter. And she and he were together—I could see it clearly now—my Miki would be gone and there would be no place for me. For a moment, though, I could still keep him out of it. And then, well, the longer he was away, the better chance that he'd never come back.

"Ppoine, dear, find me a nice rock, about this big," I said, balling her little hand in a fist.

When she brought me the rock, I crumpled the letter around it and heaved it as far as I could. The water gulped, and it was gone.

"That was a good one," Ppoine commented. "Do it again!"

"It's time for your nap."

That night at supper, Ppoine announced to her mother, "Aunt Gumi threw a letter and it went plop."

"A letter? You mean a rock, don't you, Ppoine?" Miki said.

Ppoine looked at me.

"Yes, Ppoine," I said. "Remember, it was a rock like this." And I wrapped my hand around her fist and squeezed, not too hard, but hard enough to show her I meant it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>Gumi's pulse was racing by 5:30 AM and the air, emerging shivery and wet from its bath in the early autumn night, made her hurry still faster. Quickly, she milked the five cows and fed the few other animals she and Ppoine still kept. With Kaito often away and Al aging and prices the way they were, the fields lay fallow, except for the two she'd rented to Nero Akita. She'd pass him somewhere along the way, if she was up the road toward town, but she wasn't going into town. Instead, she slipped a piece of coffeecake into her pocket and took the path into the woods.<p>

Ever since she'd discovered that Kiki was working for Mako Yonné, Gumi had begun to watch the Yonné's house as often as she could. Each morning, so far, she'd seen the same thing: Victor in a scarlet robe, presumably terry cloth, angling down the slop of his green lawn toward his charming boat house, a chalet with gingerbread hanging from the roofline and pink ivy geraniums spilling from the window boxes. He was handsome still, if anything more so, at least through the binoculars. His walk was confident but less swaggering; his movements, more tentative than they'd once been, appeared thoughtful.

Languorously, he walked across the sand under the chalet's porch and onto the pier, jouncing a bit to test its firmness, making sure nothing had slipped or warped during the night. Three quarters of the way to the end, he shucked off his robe and let it drop in a heap at his feet. He didn't dive, as Gumi expected, but sat on the edge of the pier, first dangling his feet in the water and then easing his body in, as if lowering himself into a bath. His strokes were sinuous but weary, his arms lifting in slow arcs and then seeming almost to drop into the water again. For twenty yards he pushed forward and then disappeared beneath the water again. When he emerged, he was turned to crawl back. He swam this length twice and then stopped, holding onto the edge of the pier. After a minute or two he hauled himself out.

He shrugged back into his robe without drying himself and she saw him take from his pocket a little box, open it, and transfer something from it to his tongue, before he stretched out flat under the warming sun, his hands crossed on his chest, so that he looked like a man in his coffin.

At nine, Kiki appeared, picking her way down the drive, which was so steep she had to set her feet from toe to heel, and then taking the stairs to the porch with a running step that made her skirt bounce. She lingered a moment at the top, turning to face the lake and standing with one hand on the nearest pillar, as if planting a flag to claim the view for herself. Then she crossed the porch, stood in front of the towering door, and finally disappeared into the great white pillared maw that was the Yonné's house.

But today, after a minute or two, the door reopened, and Kiki was once again on the porch. She trotted back down the stairs and continued down the hill toward the lake. Gumi slid onto the floor of her rowboat, ducking her head below the gunwale, praying she was too far away for Kiki to recognize, but the girl paid no attention to the water or anything on it. Instead, she sat neatly on her heels beside a stand of tiger lilies and began to cut them.

"Doesn't that woman know they won't keep?" Gumi indignantly whispered, but the picking of the wildflowers disturbed her far less than what happened next. She'd not even noticed Victor rising, but he was standing now. No, he was already moving, draping the red robe over his sun-browned skin as he quickly covered the distance to the beach.

"Run, Kiki, run," Gumi found herself whispering again from her ridiculous position on the floor of the boat.

He was close to the girl now. Gumi could hear in her mind the voice, smooth as expensive whiskey, and the courtly inflection of his words as he asked if he might carry her flowers. She saw him extend his hand and then she saw Kiki take it and rise from the arcing green leaves. He invited her to walk, ushering behind her back. Gumi knew how it was, understood exactly what was happening, even from where she lay with the binoculars pressed so tightly to her eyes that for some seconds she could only see red.

Kiki and Victor climbed the hill, enjoying their time together, laughing, turning to face one another At the foot of the stairs he laid the flowers in her arms and they parted, he to go right toward the kitchen, she to go up to the main entrance, but he stopped after taking the first step. He turned and followed her with his eyes, watching the way her skirt swung around her knees as she skipped upstairs.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Ppoine continued to struggle at Hanet's.<p>

"Tell us about Kiki, Ppoine," Namida begged. "what did she have for lunch yesterday?"

"I don't see why the great Kiki can never spare a moment to tell us herself," Jei complained. "The way Ppoine tells it, it'll never be half as interesting."

She was right—Ppoine couldn't tell it. She tried to repeat what Kiki had said about the house and Mrs. Yonné for them. She described the carpets and the view of the lake, the committees, the pillars, the little sandwiches and even the garnish, but it all came out sounding dull and flat. Everything felt dull and flat to Ppoine.

The air had freshened slightly that morning, signaling the end of summer, but to Ppoine the coolness was more sad than invigorating. The morning at Hanet's, always frustrating, was, without Kiki, also depressing and tedious. She noticed the stains and scuffs on the pale yellow walls and the dead flies heaped on the windowsills.

"Well, the best part," Jei said with a sly smirk, "is that sometimes she's all alone in that big house with that handsome boy. I know what I'd do."

Ppoine's eyes narrowed into thin slits and shot Jei a heated glare.

"Kiki," she hissed, "is nothing like you, Jei."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Kiki was, however, paying even more attention to her appearance than usual, trying all the scents Mayu's stocked and being careful never to wear the same dress twice in one week. Fond as she was of the notion of herself and Ppoine running their own advertising agency, now that she was working for Mako Yonné, she was no longer so naive as to think they could pull it off. The step she'd always glossed over in her imagination—arranging the meetings with important men and smart women—was both crucial and impossible. Those sorts of people would never listen to her or Ppoine.<p>

She'd met some of them in Mrs. Yonné's living room. They thanked her when she handed them her neatly typed minutes. They even asked her opinion once in a while, because they liked her—of course they liked her, everyone did—but she would never be one of them. Maybe if she were coldly ambitious. Maybe if she were wickedly clever. Maybe if she were a college graduate, she might be able to impress them. But she was none of these things. Kiki was a fair judge of herself. She knew she was reasonably bright, unwaveringly loyal and confident. She knew she had perseverance, good looks and even charm. And she knew that these qualities alone did not add up to a brilliant career. They would, however, make for an excellent wife, given the right husband.

When they'd first met at the dance, Kiki had seen Ron more as an adjunct to Meito Sakine than as a man onto himself. She'd hoped, in fact, that Ppoine would like him when she'd suggested they danced, maybe then the four of them might eventually double, since she realized her acceptance into Meito's crowd wouldn't give her much happiness if Ppoine wasn't admitted, too. But his solicitousness with Ppoine that night impressed her.

Once she became Mako's secretary, he joked with her around the house and often an enormous scale model of the Brooklyn Bridge in the sunroom, which to her indicated remarkable talent, but pieces always needed reattaching, and she'd have to hold two bits together while he applied the glue. She decided he had a particularly winning smile, more quirky and open than Meito's. Behind his glasses, his eyes, she determined, were exceptionally soulful. Obviously he had a promising future and an excellent family. Soon enough, the pleasure of going to work was in the anticipation and thrill of his appearance in the office doorway, and soon after that she stopped driving the Ford when she knew he'd be there, and looked forward all day to the evening, when he would give her a ride home in his Pontiac coupe.

Her plan to become Mrs. Ron Yonné was going very well, but it was difficult to include Ppoine, although Kiki tried.

"Last night he took me sailing to watch the sunset. It's like you're a gull, Ppoine, so quiet and glidey. Next time I'll tell him we have to take you."

"That's all right," Ppoine said. She turned on the radio behind the bait shop counter and fiddled with the tuner.

"But I want you to come. I want you to like him."

"I like him."

"We're interested in the same things—travel and music. And he loved _The Awful Truth_— remember how much I liked that movie? He's teaching me some of the newest swing steps, too. Here, I'll show you so we can all do them next Friday."

Ppoine followed Kiki's steps but she said, "You've never traveled anywhere. You've never even been to Rhoe."

"I want to, though, that's the important thing."

Ppoine stopped dancing. "We'll go to Rhoe," she said pointedly, "when we start our advertising agency."

She had to say it. She had to make Kiki admit she was spoiling everything, not just stand aside and let her go, as if there'd never been any promises.

Kiki sighed. "I know. I know I said that I'd do that with you."

"You wanted to do it! You made me go to Hanet's and now you're not even there anymore!"

"I know. I did." Kiki went behind the counter and hoisted herself onto the stool. She put her head in her hands for a moment and then looked up again at Ppoine. "The thing is, now I know that was just a game, just a childish fantasy."

_How about sailing to watch the sunset?_ Ppoine thought. _That even sounded like a silly nursery rhyme._

"Ppoine, no one's going to buy ideas from us. We'd work and work, if we could even get jobs."

"I'm sure we could get jobs!"

"All right," Kiki raised her hands, "yes, I guess we could get jobs. Mrs. Yonné said she could get something for me in Rhoe if I wanted it. Not in advertising, but a job."

Ppoine said nothing.

Kiki ran her fingers over the keys of the cash register. "But," she started, "I guess I don't want to go anymore. You have to understand. I can't help how I feel about him. I would understand," she added, "if I were you."

_You wouldn't have to understand_, Ppoine thought sharply, _because I'd always put you first. And anyway, it wouldn't be me_. But she said. "I know. I do understand."

"But Ppoine," Kiki stressed, leaning over the counter to take Ppoine's hands, "I want us to do things together, all three. You like him, don't you? I know he likes you. Why can't we all three be friends?"

Ppoine knew it didn't work like that, and she'd no desire even to see Ron again after her embarrassing night on the boat, but after all, there was Kiki, looking so hopeful and eager.

"We can," she found herself agreeing. "Of course we can, if that's what you want."

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>Kiki and Ron began to pick Ppoine up at Hanet's at the end of the day, and they'd all go over to Yufu's Pharmacy for malts. Ron lent Ppoine books and they'd talk about them.<p>

"Did you like _The Minister's Charge_?"

"I don't know. I liked it up until the end. Then it was just too awful."

"You don't think he should have married Statira?"

"No, I think he made a terrible mistake. To be trapped with one woman when he really loves another? It's wrong."

"But isn't he right to take responsibility for leading her on? He certainly behaved as if he meant to marry her, even after he knew he loved Jessie better."

Ppoine sighed. "I guess I admire him for it, but it still seems a high price to pay for an innocent mistake. I mean, he thought he loved her. At first."

"A high price? But she isn't so bad, is she?"

"No, of course not, but that's the other problem, what he's doing to her. After all, what makes him think he's so special? He's robbing her of any chance to find someone who really loves her. Does he think no one else will? _He_ loved her once."

"You remind me of Jessie."

"Oh, no." She shook her head and bent over her straw, blushing. "I'm nothing like Jessie."

"Who's Jessie?" Kiki asked, sliding onto her stool. She'd run out to examine a hat in Macne's next door, while they waited for her with their malts.

"She's a bohemian," Ron told her. "An artist. She gives up the hero when she finds out another woman loved him first."

"Does he love her?"

"Certainly. She's exactly what he's been looking for his whole life."

"Then she's a fool," Kiki said. "All's fair in love and war."

"You don't think some things are more important than love?" Ppoine asked.

"No. Nothing." Kiki responded. She frowned at her malt. "I probably shouldn't drink this."

"I hope you're not listening to my mother's crazy ideas," Ron teased.

"I was, but if you think I look all right. . ."

" 'All right'? Sure," he said, smiling, "you look all right."

Ron's car was a two-seater, but they fitted three in easily with Kiki leaning against Ron's shoulder and Ppoine wedged against the door. Gumi, waiting at the kitchen window for Ppoine to come home, watched the girl nearly spill onto the drive when the car stopped.

Kiki hung out the window, waving after her. "Eight o' clock tomorrow night!" she called.

Gumi had watched the Yonné family closely enough to know the car and to guess who would be driving it.

"Are they serious?" She asked later, when she'd poured coffee first in Ppoine's cup and then in her own and taken her seat at the table.

It was just the two of them now at supper, as long as Kaito was away. Last spring Al had decided he was too old to work on the farm, but apparently not too old to marry. They'd had the ceremony in the front room. Gumi had baked the wedding cake and Ppoine had played three songs on the piano, and Al had moved into his wife's house in town.

"Are who serious?"

"Kiki and that Yonné boy."

"I don't know." Ppoine shrugged. She often felt she had to protect Kiki from Gumi's prying questions. Why was it any of her business?

Gumi frowned. "I would hope she'd have better judgement."

"There's nothing wrong with Ron. He's the nicest boy I've ever met." Ppoine was somewhat surprised to realize she believed this. Did he really think she was like Jessie?

_Careful_, Gumi told herself, _it's not worth making a fuss if it turns out to be a schoolgirl fancy. Hadn't Kiki been in love with some other boy just a few weeks ago?_

"I just mean, they're only summer people," she said. "I hope she knows there's no sense in getting serious over summer people."

_Still_, she thought, _this would bear watching._ She felt as if someone were playing a game with her, making a move and then sitting back with a cruel smile, waiting to see what she would do in response. So far, she hadn't made the right moves. That was obvious. Whatever her intentions, in the clinch, she'd always let her instincts drive her, and her heart, as it turned out, was an idiot, not to be counted on. Here she'd been acting wrong again, even tonight, waiting behind the curtain for Ppoine to come home, when it was Kiki she needed to worry about. In fact, raising Ppoine was the only thing she'd done right.

Gumi gazed across the kitchen, where Ppoine was now pumping water to wash the supper dishes. Probably she'd break one; she often did, hastily rattling the plates together, paying scant attention to the work. Gumi always felt exhilarated near Ppoine's wild energy, even though she cringed at the clumsiness that accompanied it. It was no wonder why Ppoine would rather lounge around than work some days.

While Ppoine knocked things over left and right, Gumi hadn't lost her grip on the single fragile item since she'd dropped her mother's crystal case the day Miki and Kaito were married. Keeping things whole, she reflected, rubbing the base of her thumb, demanded a great deal of concentration.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>After Ron took Kiki home, he drove aimlessly along the country roads. That summer, the path he'd been following, the route chosen and painstakingly marked by his parents, had forked. His brother could arrange a place for him at the bank or he could start some business of his own—his parents had made clear that their fondest desire was to finance an enterprise conceived and captained by Ron K. Yonné. But a sense that there might also exist some entirely different destination, one that he couldn't yet see but which lay just beyond the obscuring undergrowth of long habit and expectations, troubled him and kept him from moving forward. He had no idea how to hack through that foliage, not whether whatever he uncovered would please him, but neither did he want to follow blindly the manicured course on which his feet were already set. He was restless; he felt forces massing within him, ready to propel him in whatever direction he chose, but he could not decide. He had given himself the summer to loiter, but now it was fall.<p>

And then there was this girl, Kiki. He felt almost as if he'd conjured her up, the way he'd met her that night and then found her, sparkling and chattering, with her quick smile and easy laugh, at his mother's desk the next week. She clearly admired him, and his mother had indicated she would approve.

"Sometimes a blank slate is best," she'd said. "There's something to be said for a girl who's open to influence." Mako Yonné believed it was important to be broad-minded when it came to love.

Kiki was bright and pretty and obviously ambitious. She listened to concerts on the radio to teach herself to identify composers, and she asked his mother a hundred questions about the paintings on their walls. When his mother bought her a ticket to see _A Doll's House_ with them in Menostown, Kiki found a copy at the library and read it twice, and also _Hedda Gabler_ and _The Wild Duck_ for good measure. Out of the corner of his eye, as he sat next to her in the theater, he saw her mouthing the lines. He knew it was patronizing of him, but he found her attempts to become cultured endearing. And beyond her looks and her charm, he admired her sense of certainty. She knew where she wanted to go and how to get there. It was tempting to align himself with someone like that, a woman who would take him in hand.

Kiki's friend, however, confused him.

Ever since that first night when Ppoine had told him about her mother drowning, he'd wanted to say to her, "I found her. She's the lady in the ice."  
>That her mother had called to him through that glassy blackness, that he'd been the one to find her, to discover her blue skin and staring eyes, made him feel close to Ppoine, who seemed to hold herself apart. In the drugstore he'd wanted to reach for a string of her hair that was always dripping down along her face, to twine it around his finger. At best, she looked ordinary. Her complexion was not especially clear, her eyes were too slant, and her lips too narrow. Still, something reserved, even secretive, in her manner intrigued him. He was sure that she would take him somewhere he'd never been, somewhere he couldn't even imagine.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>xXx<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You drive," Kiki said to Ppoine the following evening. "I'm too jumpy. You need the practice anyway."<p>

Kiki had given Ppoine driving lessons the summer before, but they hadn't taken. She needed several tries to get the car moving, and she forgot to look left before she lurched into the road.

"Don't you think he should've picked me up tonight, Ppoine?"

"But didn't he say he'd be driving out from town? That he'd be late? He wanted to be sure you were going, didn't he?"

"He was just being polite. Or curious. Or. . . I don't know, but he should take me somewhere on a real date, if he means for this to go on after he moves back to town."

Ppoine concentrated on keeping the wheels on the road.

"Did I tell you he gave me a four-leaf clover yesterday?"

"No," Ppoine answered dutifully. She wished this would be over one way or another, Kiki and Ron definitely together or definitely not. She wished she never had to hear another word about him. "I hope you pressed it immediately in a book of poetry," she said.

Kiki buried her face in her hands and laughed. "Yes," she admitted. "I don't know what I'm going to do if he doesn't say something soon. I think I'm in love with him, honest to God."

She sat up straight in the seat then and changed her tone. "What I'm thinking is I should dance first with Meito, then maybe Luki, make him wait his turn. Let him wonder a little bit. The trouble is he can see me ever day of the week, if he wants to. He _does_ see me almost every day of the week, so he doesn't realize that if he wants to keep, you know, _seeing_ me, one of these days he's going to have to say something."

Ppoine was easing the car into the parking lot at the dance pavilion now. When she turned off the engine, music flooded through the open windows. It was the last dance of the summer. Already the vibrant green had begun to drain from the masses of leaves, and soon the world would draw itself into its hard shell. Even in a month's time it would be nearly impossible to remember the smothery, soft lushness of summer nights. In a month's time Ron Yonné might be gone.

Kiki slammed the car door. "Now Ppoine," she said, leaning on her friend to keep from tripping in her new high-heeled sandals, as they walked across the gravel, "if you see we're trying to be alone, you'll help me out, won't you? Distract Luki. You know how he loves to talk to you—he thinks you're a serious person. Or make him dance with that horrible Ling."

The band had switched from a fast number to something dreamy and the brilliant pavilion seemed almost to float on the dark water, if you looked at it from the right angle. Even Ppoine sensed its promise as she filled her lungs with the poignant air of the coming fall.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>"He's still not here, is he?" Kiki whispered to Ppoine as Luki escorted her back to their table.<p>

But just then he was coming toward them.

"Behind you," Ppoine whispered, and Kiki turned and intercepted him. As she led him by the hand smoothly onto the dance floor, he looked over his shoulder once toward Ppoine, but she turned away from him, talking to Luki.

"Not so hot tonight, is it?" Luki said.

"Yes, it's nice." _Ron looked at me_, Ppoine thought, and felt ashamed.

"I suppose we could dance, if you want to," Luki offered.

"Maybe in a little while." It was ridiculous, despicable, wanting Ron to look at her. Ppoine felt a little sick to her stomach, thinking of it.

"Well, I'm ready to get myself a drink. Want anything?"

"Yes, please, Luki. Whatever you're having." While she waited for him to return with the drinks, Ppoine tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that she was merely being foolish. After all, a glance, a kindness, a dance, an idle compliment—they meant nothing, of course, nothing outside her own silly mind. But wasn't that the horror of it? That there was no true feeling between Ron and herself, and still she would betray Kiki in her thoughts?

Ppoine got up from the table and wandered over to peer through the screen at the winking carnival lights of Serenada Beach across the lake. The waves, distinct in the streak of moonlight and invisible in the darkness on either side, seemed to move much more quickly than they did in the daytime, as if they were part of some frantic river. In their speed, they gave the illusion that the pavilion itself was sliding in the opposite direction, and Ppoine had to grab the railing to keep her balance. She looked over her shoulder at the faces tilted back with laughter or forward in concentration.

"C'mon, Ppoine," Kiki said, tugging at her arm, "we're going out in the boat again."

It was just as before, Ron steadying the women in their unsteady shoes one by one as they stepped off the pier and Meito, standing below, helping them find their footing in the boat. Everyone was talking, laughing, reminding Meito to bring enough liquor, and ribbing him about the morning's race.

"I was starting to get dizzy watching you reround that mark," Ron said.

"I had to give you a chance to catch up. Wasn't I taking my spinnaker down before you'd even finished your reach?"

"But Natsuki and Ron picked up the right side of the lake on the last windward leg," Qingxian put in. Ppoine could tell she'd said it to prove she knew what they were talking about, while Ppoine and Kiki did not.

Qingxian paused for a moment before stepping forward after she took Ron's hand. "It isn't fair that you're always the last one in," she said.

"I like my job, as long as Meito doesn't leave without me."

Qingxian looked at Ron significantly. "Shall I save you a seat?"

"Sure." _He sounded surprised_, Ppoine thought, taken aback, but still he said, "Sure."

Qingxian nodded. "See you soon, then." And keeping her eyes down as she stepped from the gunwale to the seat, she wiggled the fingers of her free hand in the air.

Kiki, whose turn was next, also looked at Ron, and Ppoine saw her smile, as if the whole outing had not in a matter of seconds been ruined for her. She took his hand lightly, only touching her fingers to his palm, weightless and undemanding. "Meito," she said, turning away and planting her delicate shoe, with its high stalk of a heel on the gunwale, "catch me!"

She didn't mean it. She didn't jump into his arms, nothing so reckless as that, but she stepped into the boat too quickly, with too much of her mind focused on acting blithe, instead of on placing her feet. She reached for Meito's shoulder just as he was putting his hands around her waist, but somehow he lost his balance, and they both tumbled to the floor. Kiki was laughing and groaning at once.

"Kiki, are you all right?" Ppoine jumped into the boat, and Ron followed her.

"Yes, fine! No, I don't think so!" She yelped as she tried to put weight on her foot and crumpled onto the seat.

"And she's an actress, too, out little Eau de Grub," Ling whispered to Qingxian.

"I'm all right," Kiki insisted, but Ron said he'd better take her home, and she let herself be helped out of the boat and carried off the pier.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>"He's come to visit every day!" Kiki crowed from the chaise in her mother's front room on Sunday. She kept herself the words and kisses by which he'd made his intentions clear at last.<p>

"So was it worth it?"

"You don't think I did this on purpose, do you?" She leaned forward to rub the swollen ankle she'd propped on a pile of pillows. "Although I was so mad at that Qingxian, I wanted to push her in the drink."

"I know, she's hideous. Let's not have anything more to do with those people."

"But they're Ron's friends. If Ron and I. . ."

"It's so sweet of you, Ppoine dear, to do this for Kiki," Mrs. Kagamine said, interrupting her daughter as she came into the room. She stood behind Kiki and smoothed the girl's hair behind her ears.

"Your hands smell!" Kiki protested but she let her head fall against her mother's arm.

"I told her a hundred times," Mrs. Kagamine went on indulgently, "that she'd tip right over in those shoes, but she never listens."

"What am I doing for you, Kiki?"

"Mother, you didn't give me the chance to ask her yet," Kiki turned to Ppoine. "The thing is. . . everyone's being unreasonable about my ankle. Dr. Nagareboshi says I can't walk on it, at least for another day, and Mother's scared I'll fall on that hill if I use the crutches. I hate to let Mrs. Yonné down. Would you fill in for me tomorrow?"

"But I'm an awful secretary."

"It doesn't matter. She won't rush you, and mostly I do things like answer the telephone and sort the mail. Anyone can do it. It's simple—personal, bills, charity." She mimed putting each in a separate pile. "Pay the bills, keep the accounts, and as far as the charity stuff goes, Mrs. Yonné'll look at each piece and tell you what you should do with them."

"Aunt Gumi won't like me missing Hanet's. Not after she's paid for it."

"Do you have to tell her? It's only one day, Ppoine."

Ppoine bit one of her thumbnails. "I suppose for one day it'll be all right. I might as well see if I can do this stuff I'm supposed to have learned. What'll I do until the mail comes."

"Oh, you'll find something. I'm sure I left some letters from last week on the desk to be typed and sent out. Or you can get Ron to give you a tour of the house!"

"Kiki!"

"Relax, I was only joking. Don't worry, someone'll tell you what to do." Kiki's voice followed Ppoine as she left. "Don't forget to wear something nice~!"


	17. Chapter 17

**_Gumi_**

* * *

><p>In November the baby was so large in front of me, I had to lean back to keep my balance. That must have been why I didn't see Nero until he was already on the grass, partway up the path to the house. I was standing at the bottom of the front steps, halfheartedly rolling the acorns off the walk with a broom. There was nowhere to hide, not even a decent shrub to cover me now that the leaves had dropped. My middle stood out starkly behind the narrow broomstick.<p>

I ran. Heavy as I was, running, it seemed, was still what I did best. I ran around the back of the house and pushed Miki out the front. Nero had come with a letter: Kaito was on his way home. In the yard, Miki danced. She swooped Ppoine off her feet and danced. She twirled and danced. She danced with Nero; she danced with Ppoine— Kaito was coming home.

I sat on Ppoine's little bed, trying to keep the panic down. Inside of me, the baby danced, just like Miki. It kicked up its heels and danced and danced. Before Nero left, he also told Miki a sad story. I could imagine him, holding his cap and bowing his head, pretending he wasn't thinking about what he'd seen inside of me.

Poor Rin had had her baby, a girl, as still as ice.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>Gumi steered a straight course through the early morning mist, one hand on the little four-horse Evinrude Nero had given her when he bought a more powerful one for himself. The motor buzzed so loudly she couldn't think, but she had to think. She hadn't decided what she would say or how she would say it, but Ron had to leave Kiki alone—and Victor, if he had any ideas. . . but that was unthinkable.<p>

Anyway, she told herself firmly, the time had come to make clear that this was her place, not his, and that he had caused enough trouble for one lifetime.

As she drew close to his boathouse, the smell nearly beat her back. The weed barge must have been cutting that morning, and a sea of weeds, studded with dead fish, clogged the water all along the shore. She killed the motor before the stringy fronds could tangle in the propeller and rowed the distance to the pier. She tied her boat, and then on an impulse got out and sat on the boards where she had seen him sunbathe to catch the sun. She faced the middle of the lake, away from the lawn from which she knew he'd come. If anyone else found her first, well, let them.

"Motor trouble?" His voice sang over her shoulder. Dazzled by the brightness that had been beating against her eyelids, she could at first see only light and shadow. He was just stepping from the grass to the sand and he raised his hand to shade his eyes. "Gumi?" He squinted in her direction, frowning, and then glanced quickly but unmistakeably back toward the house, before hurrying toward her. The boards of the pier sprang under his weight so that she rose and fell with each of his steps.

It seemed natural, his bending to give her his hand. Her cheek brushed the arm of the bathrobe as she allowed him to help her to her feet. She smelled the same old soap he'd used so many years ago, and those months with him rushed back upon her. Yes, for an instant, she felt pleasure above all, as his nearness confirmed that a young, hopeful Gumi had once existed and was remembered, and the sweetness of this sensation was only intensified by the bitter realization that she existed no more. This man knew her, _had_ known her, she corrected herself, however much he'd abused that knowledge.

He stared and stared at her, shaking his head in surprise. "Gumi. Look at you. Just look at you."

And against her will, she exulted in his approval. But she pulled herself back, sorry she'd let him, of all people, catch her up again. "I need to talk to you."

"Of course, of course, Gumi. But—" and he glanced, rather furtively, she noticed, to either side along the lake shore—"not here, I think. Say," he said, brightening, "why don't we take your boat and get away from this stink?"

She hesitated. She wanted to get it over with, but she still hadn't decided exactly what she meant to say. Keep your son away from my friend's daughter? It hardly sounded convincing. "All right," she said. _Talking to him would be easier_, she told herself, _if we weren't standing on his pier in full sight of his wife's window_.

The moment he stepped into her boat, she realized she hated him. He rowed a few strokes to get them clear of the weeds and she kept on hating him, hated the certainty with which he handled the oars, just as he'd once handled her. She gave the cord on the motor two fierce tugs and the Evinrude sputtered to life slowly, the tiny engine barely creating a ripple behind them, they crept into deeper water.

They didn't try to talk over the engine noise. Finally Victor, who'd been looking over Gumi's shoulder at the receding shoreline, said, " Might as well stop here as anywhere."

Gumi noticed they were too far from shore to be seen, although not if the viewer had a pair of binoculars.

"So, Gumi. What is it? Do you need money?"

It was her turn to stare at him. "Money? No, of course not."

"Well, lots of people do these days. It's nothing to be ashamed of. And I'd be happy to see what I could do. I don't know how much exactly, but I'm sure I could loan you something."

"Victor, stop. I don't need money."

"Well, what then?"

She looked away from him over the water. What? What did she want to say? Kiki is our daughter. Was that it? She opened her mouth. "Why don't you go ahead and take your swim?" she said.

"What?"

"I mean, I suppose you meant to take a swim this morning. You're dressed for swimming, aren't you? Why don't you go ahead as long as we're out here away from the weeds?"

Obviously puzzled, he said nothing at first, and then began to loosen the knot securing his bathrobe. "Well, all right," he said. "Maybe I will. I like to get in at least a couple of laps every day. Then maybe we can drive around a bit. See that island you were always telling me about."

He remembered the island. Gumi felt disproportionately grateful, and then disgusted with herself for that gratitude. It was funny, she thought, as he took off his robe and climbed onto the seat, how comfortable he acted with her, as if she had no reason to hate him, as if they'd parted on good terms and not very long ago at that, as if none of the terrible things she'd experienced had happened.

He dove, shoving the boat several feet away from him as he thrust himself forward. Of course, as far as he knew, nothing much had happened. She'd cried and they'd broken off, that was all. She realized with a start that he might even think she'd come back to him, that she didn't care anymore that he was married. Or perhaps that was ungenerous, she thought as she watched his slow crawl away from the boat. Perhaps he was only glad to see her again. Perhaps he thought she'd forgiven him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>Ppoine reached under the collar of her dress and tugged at the strap that threatened to slip down her arm. It was eight-thirty. She was a full half hour early. Below her, the lake shimmered invitingly. Fishing boats manned by those irregular types who had no morning employment lounged in the pockets along its edges, and far out a man was diving from a little rowboat, his tanned torso shining in the strong, new sun.<p>

Once she'd began straying toward the sparkling waves, the slope pulled her down the hill, until she was standing on a concrete sea wall. Two feet below, the lake at its annual low point swelled and receded biliously, raising and lowering its fetid cargo of red and white bobbers, brown paper sandwich wrappers, and stinking dead fish, all caught in a net of weeds.

Ppoine backed away. Might as well go early to work.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>"Coffee?" The maid asked when she'd shown Ppoine upstairs to a bright room, in which a roll-top desk stood against one wall.<p>

"Oh, no thank you." Ppoine slipped her hand over a scorched spot she'd just noticed on her skirt.

"Miss Kagamine always has coffee. With cream and three sugars. Like a confection." The woman frowned disapprovingly and with that left the room, shutting the door behind her, and Ppoine was left alone to regret declining the coffee.

She fingered the key in the desk. Should she wait or open it? Kiki should have given her more directions. Ppoine paced around the room, passing her eyes over engravings and the spines of books without any real awareness of what she was seeing. She didn't want to be caught snooping. she could imagine Mrs. Yonné in her wide-shouldered olive green suit and feathered hat—although probably she shouldn't be wearing the hat at home— bursting in, wondering why she hadn't gotten started. Hadn't Kiki said there was some typing?

Ppoine went back to the roll-top, turned the key and slid the top open. Yes, there was a Remington, and a stenographer's notebook open to a page of Kiki's neat shorthand. She slid into the desk chair, separated a clean sheet of paper form the stack and rolled it into the typewriter.

Twenty minutes later she was leaning over the machine, trying to decide whether a mistyped _i_ could be adequately covered with an _l_, or whether she ought to start the page over, as her instructors at Hanet's would have insisted, the door opened.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, just legible." Mrs. Yonné said. Mrs. Yonné, Ppoine saw, would never burst into a room. She was stately and poised; in her grey dress she looked like a great blue heron. She glided forward, extending her hand. "You must be Perla. I'm so grateful to you for filling in for Kiki this week." Her skin, smooth and cool, made Ppoine conscious of the ink on her own fingers. "Didn't Merli bring you any coffee?" And before Ppoine could protest, Mrs. Yonné was speaking into a device in the wall. "Would you bring coffee for two, please, Merli? And don't forget the cream and sugar." She turned back to Ppoine and whispered, "Merli doesn't approve of sweets."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~ . . . ~<strong>_

* * *

><p>For an hour or so, Mrs. Yonné paced around the room as she dictated notes for a speech convincing her circle to donate funds to establish a summer camp for poor children.<p>

"Help me, Perla. I need to say something about fresh air, the importance of fresh air and exercise for both physical and moral growth. How can we expect these children to develop into upstanding citizens if we don't expose them to the healthy innocence of the countryside? Yes, that's good Perla, get that down."

Then, while Ppoine transcribed the most promising lines, Mrs. Yonné made telephone calls.

"Well," she sighed, setting the receiver down after the fifth call, "I guess that's all I'm going to get done today. I've got to ooh and ahh over the new pulmonary wing at St. Noche's. If you could finish up the typing and copy these into the appointment book, it would be such a help. If anything conflicts, let me know." She handed Ppoine a few letters. "Merli will bring you lunch, of course. Just call her through the intercom whenever you want it."

"All right," Ppoine said, although she knew she could never summon Merli.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then? Or Kiki?"

"Kiki, I think."

"Well, Perla," she said, giving Ppoine her cool hand again, "you've been a great help. Thank you." And then she was gone.

Ppoine sat down to the typing. The paper she fed into the machine was luxuriously thick and soft, and a rich, creamy color, nothing like the nearly transparent stuff flecked with bits of wood and tag they had to use at Hanet's. When she held it to the light, the watermark floated in the center like a secret kiss. Wait a minute. . . Why hadn't she told Mrs. Yonné that her name wasn't Perla? Oh well, like it matters now.

_Dear Mrs. Sakine, I was so placed_

Carefully, Ppoine rolled the paper out of the typewriter and inserted a new page.

_Dear Mrs. Sakine, I wzs_

_Dear mrs._

_Dre_

Ppoine yanked the fourth sheet of paper out with a sharp, satisfying zip. Anyone who did that at Hanet's had to pay a fine for damage to the machine. Not wanting Mrs. Yonné to see how many sheets of expensive letter paper she'd ruined, she folded her false starts and stuffed them into her pocketbook.

She walked once around the room to collect herself and then sat down again. A hairpin poked her scalp. One by one, she drew pins out, searching for the culprit, until her hair hung freely down her back.

Except for the typewriter, everything on the desk was decorated to suggest a whimsical, aquatic theme. She picked up a letter opener with a silver handle scaled like a fish. Beside that crouched a green enamel box shaped like a frog from whose mouth protruded a tongue of stamps. She tore several off, licked them and applied them to envelopes. She would type the addresses later. Then she turned to the appointment book, which was covered in bottle green leather and had its own little gold pen stuck in a ring on the side. Ppoine filled in each obligation from the cards and letters Mrs. Yonné had given her. First she wrote in pencil in case she made a mistake, and then she traced over the pencil with the gold pen.

The telephone rang and she jumped. Was she supposed to answer it? She waited. It rang again, two rings, three, four. Why wasn't Merli or someone downstairs picking it up? Finally, on the sixth ring, she lifted the receiver. "Hello?" But no one was there.

Ppoine flipped back and forth through the appointment book: Soldiers' Home luncheon, tea for St. Paul's, S. Lime, Abyss home, Garden Club, Library Benefit, Athletic Club, Red Cross, Women's Club, dinner at the Colony's. She pretended to answer a call. "Yes, this is Mrs. Yonné's secretary. . . Let me see. . . I can squeeze you in between two-thirty and three o' clock on Wednesday, will that be all right? Thank you. Goodbye." She wished the telephone would ring again.

Ppoine closed the appointment book and stuck the pen back into its holder. She got up from the roll-top desk, moved to the table where Mrs. Yonné sat, and reached for the fountain pen as if it were her own. She tried her signature on the pack of an old envelope—Ppoine Hirrone Shion. Out the window, at the bottom of the hill, the lake looked like wrinkled tinfoil that threw sunbeams in every direction.

Finally, she returned to the desk and rolled a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter. "Dear Mrs. Sakine," she pecked, keeping to a slow but steady rhythm, "I was so pleased to talk with you last Thursday."

Silently, Ron opened the door to his mother's study. It had become his habit to surprise Kiki when his mother was out, to sneak as close to her s he could before she detected his presence, or at least before she let on that she noticed him.

His first reaction, when he realized it was not Kiki who sat typing with her back to the door, was embarrassment at what he'd planned. When he recognized Ppoine, his blood jolted. From surprised, he assured himself. That was all that affected him—surprise.

"Hello," he said from the doorway.

As she whirled around, her wrist struck an inkwell, but she caught it deftly before it could fly off the table and disgorge its blue-black innards onto the Persian carpet. She uttered only a startled "Oh," then turned away again in confusion, reaching to set the ink far back on the desk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He took two steps into the room. He could think of nothing else to say.

"S'okay. Kiki should be back tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest."

"Is she ill?"

Ppoine, struggling to put her loose hair back together, had stuck two pins in her mouth. "They won't let her walk on her ankle," she said as well as she could through closed teeth.

"Her ankle, of course. Is it better?"

"Not really. That's why they won't let her walk on it." He was making her nervous. The way he looked at her could almost be described as expectant, as if he thought she might suddenly say or do something amusing. As far as she knew, she'd never done anything to give him that impression.

"That's right, she shouldn't walk on it." He picked up the stamp-box frog and set it down again. "It's very nice of you to fill in for her."

She shrugged. "Otherwise I'd have to go to Hanet's and I can't stand Hanet's."

"Why do you go then?" There it was again, that little smile of anticipation.

"Because Kiki thought I should typewrite, and they promised to teach me. Not that I've learned," she added honestly, "but I don't think that's their fault."

He laughed. "Typewriting's not important."

"Not to you, maybe. But to me it is, or at least it should be. Maybe you haven't noticed, but there are precious few jobs out there."

"And this is what you want to be? A typewriter?"

"No," she admitted. "Not really. But what you want doesn't always matter, does it?"

"I guess not." He crossed the room to look out the window toward the lake. "Next week I start work for my brother," he said, drumming his fingers on the table. then he turned back to her. "Say, we shouldn't be inside today."

She cocked a brow. "We shouldn't?"

"Summer's almost over, isn't it? We have to take advantage."

Ppoine looked doubtfully at the paper in the machine. "You go ahead. I have to finish these letters."

"But I thought you said you couldn't typewrite?"

"I told your mother I'd do them."

He picked up the little stack of handwritten letters and counted the pages. "If I do these for you, will you go with me?"

"You can't type!"

"Of course I can." He nudged her out of the chair. Then he rolled up his sleeves and adjusted the chair's position, as if preparing for great labor. "Ah, Mrs. Sakine," he said, rubbing his hands together as he examined the letter she'd began. "What shall we say to Mrs. Sakine?"

He began to type in swift, decisive strokes, every half minute or so returning the carriage with a hearty swipe. Ppoine, watching the lines emerge from the machine, belatedly remembered to spread her fingers over the scorch in her skirt.

"My father made me learn a few years ago," he said as he started on the next letter. "He said I had to keep up with improvements. I have to say, I'm not sorry now." He looked up at her, quickly, shyly, as the carriage bell dinged.

She watched with fascination by the certainty of his fingers and lulled by the clacking of the keys, until he pulled the last page out. He joggled the finished letters together and tapped their edges on the desk. "Okay, ready to head out?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>~ . . . ~<em>**

* * *

><p>In that car with him, without Kiki pressed between them, Ppoine leaned tentatively against the back of the seat, aware that there was nothing but space between her thigh and his. She kept her eyes on the sky, a washed-clean, hard blue, and the rough stubble of the recently out fields. After a while, though, she began to relax. She opened the window as far as it would go and played idly with one hand in the streaming air. The wind teased her hair down again, and she let it snarl, only holding it back with one hand to keep the whipping tendrils from her face.<p>

"Too fast?" he asked, with the same, shy, sideways glace he'd given her at the typewriter.

"No, I like it."

They passed fields and farmhouses and barns and little stores with the words GROCERIES BEER BAIT and BEER FOOD DRY GOODS and CHEESE CHICKENS BEER painted on their walls.

"Where're we going?" Ppoine asked finally.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "How about a picnic? You hungry?"

"Starved."

He pulled over next to one of the all-purpose stores, a place made of whitewashed stone, with two tiny windows. Inside, Ron started toward the ice box in the back and Ppoine followed slowly behind. She liked this store; it was like a cave, pleasantly damp and cool after the dry wind of the road. As she moved alone the row of shelves, examining the packages—blackberry, strawberry, raspberry jam, cornflakes, soap flakes, matches—she smelled first mothballs, then vinegar, then cloves, and then cigarettes and rancid sweat.

"Whatcha doin' with him?"

Ppoine jumped at the raspy whisper behind her back, knocking a can of tuna to the floor. An old man, whose head came only to her shoulder, scowled up at her.

"Nothing," she said, diving to retrieve the can. She pushed it onto the shelf and backed toward the door. "I'll be outside, Ron."

What gave that crazy old man the right to talk to her like that? She leaned against the warm whitewashed wall. They were friends on a drive, she should have said. They were only taking advantage of the last summer weather. Honestly, she wished Kiki was with them.

Safely back in the car, they pointed out pretty views and charming houses and were pleased to discover that their tastes were just the same. They talked about the people they knew, which reminded them of stories about people they'd known. Ron told Ppoine he'd been thinking he might want to learn to build bridges, and Ppoine told Ron about how Gumi had taught her throw fits and bark like a dog to keep her out of school. "Let's see," he challenged, and she demonstrated, and he laughed so hard that he swerved the car.

He turned onto a smaller road.

"Do you know where you're going?" she asked as the small road became a dirt track.

"My father and I used to stop somewhere around here." He leaned over her to look out the window. He led her finally to a little river, where he made a nest of rocks for the beer to cool. Then they sat on the grass and he hacked at the salami with his pocketknife, while she tore the bread.

"Kiki should be back tomorrow," she said, piling haphazard sandwiches on brown paper between them.

"Oh? That's good."

"Yes, her ankle really isn't that bad. I mean, it was bad, but it's better now. Her mother just wanted her to be careful."

"She _should_ be careful." He fetched her a beer and watched her throat ripple as she swallowed. "I hate to leave the lake next week," he said.

"But you wouldn't like it in the winter. It's bleak and empty as the moon."

"I don't mind that. You can do things outside here, not just scurry form building to building like we do in the city."

"Mostly, we scurry from building to building, too." She smiled. "If we're lucky."

"Well, I hope I have a reason to come back for the weekends, anyway." He blushed and pulled a few bunches of grass from the ground. They made the light, tearing sound a sheep would make cropping.

_He means Kiki_, she thought._ He loves Kiki._ Did this grieve her because he would have Kiki, or because Kiki would have him? Both, she supposed. Both left her alone. But she was Kiki's friend, that was the important thing. And she would be Kiki's friend, with or without her. "Kiki would make a good wife."

"Yes, I'm sure she would," he said seriously. "A man would be lucky to have her." Suddenly, he tossed the grass he'd collected into the air, so that it fell like confetti onto their heads. "Let's take a walk."

One blade dangled just above her eye. He reached forward to slide it from her hair, and she felt a tiny pang as his finger touched her forehead._ Stop that_, she told herself sharply._ You mustn't feel that way again_. Briskly, she stood up and brushed the grass from her dress. "No," she said, "it's getting late, my aunt will worry. It's best if we go now."


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N:**_

I haven't been fair in updating this. It's already been about more than a year, hasn't it? My sincerest apologies to all those who followed and favorited this story and had to wait so long. I promise to make the next chapter longer to compensate for it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>I had to admit it was lovely there on the water with the fresh breeze shirring the waves and the sun's warmth soaking under my blouse. The morning had lured three sailboats from their docks, and they zigged and zagged on the dark blue water, their canvas brilliant white triangles against the light blue sky. Victor swam so close that the spray thrown up by his kicking wet my cheeks. Wasn't this enough, more than enough? Our happiness, after all, had once been real, even if he' d lied to spur it on. Why had I, in insisting that I be the most prized, the only beloved, hidden myself away from such delights?<p>

After his second lap, he hung onto the boat, breathing laboriously. Now that his hair was wet and plastered to his skull, I could see how much it had thinned. I wanted to reach over and take his hand. _Shhh_, I wanted to say, _shhh, it's all right. Rest now. Come back in the boat and rest._ It made me sad to see him diminished, a man who'd been so vital, but his weakness made me fond.

Of course, I'd been mistaken about what I'd thought I'd seen a few mornings before. Victor wasn't what he had been. He'd no designs on Kiki. My own suspicious nature had created my fears.

I wanted to tell him about her. I wanted him to know that, in the end, he and I had produced such a one.

"I want to tell you about Kiki," I said. "Kiki Kagamine."

Squinting up at me, he sighed. Yes, I think he sighed. "She's lovely, isn't she? " he said. "In fact. . . if I weren't so old. . ." He looked away from me then, far off toward the other side of the lake, and then he looked back. He may have even winked, although maybe he was only blinking water form his eyes. "But who knows what the young girls like nowadays? " he said. "I might have a chance, yet." As he spoke, he turned and pushed off t he boat with his feet, so his last words were nearly washed away by the swoosh of the water, but I know I heard them. Otherwise, why would I have felt such a cold horror prickling my skin?

And then I felt the sun burning and raging in my veins. I wanted to ram him with the boat, to drive the propeller over his smug, tanned back, so that it shredded into ribbons like a worn sheet. I wanted to leap in and hold his head under with my own hands.

But I didn't. Of course I didn't. I could never do any of those things.

Instead, I stood up in the boat and shouted for the whole lake to hear: _"She's your daughter! Your **daughter**!"_

But he didn't stop. I tugged viciously at the chord, and the motor growled. He must have raised his head at last when the whine reached his ears. Bewildered, he must have watched me go. But I did not look back.

As I dragged the boat after me onto the muddy shore, I imagined Victor climbing out of the water, calling for a sandwich. He would be ravenous after such a long swim, and my fury would have done no damage to his other appetites, either. At least he'd have to push through those weeds. He was a monster. _A monster!_ His smell lingered on my skin and I waded into the waves to scrub my hands and to cool my face, which still burned with outrage.

Serenada is not a large lake; anyone can swim its width. How was I to guess he couldn't do what a ten year-old can do? I'd forgotten about his weak heart.

Is that true? To be honest, I don't know.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gumi<em>**

* * *

><p>I wasn't ready when the baby was. I wanted to stay forever in limbo, not going forward, not going back, just still. But the baby couldn't be still. We were going on whether I liked it or not.<p>

The pains began at noon on a bright, achingly cold day. Recklessly, I stood at the edge of the island for a last taste of air, daring the world to see. I exulted in the force of the wind, beating and gusting along the new green ice, cold enough to bring tears to my eyes. And then my insides squeezed again.

My water broke around seven. I sterilize d the scissors, stifling thoughts of that absurd vacuum box, and laid them out with string on a clean towel. I placed my shoes side by side under the bed in Miki's room, the one we'd decided to use. I took off my dress and hung it neatly on the hook behind the door. Miki, poor little thing, flew back and forth from kitchen to bedroom, sometimes carrying a glass of water or a blanket, mainly just t o be doing something. But I was calm. I was ready.

A contraction gripped me and I made a sound that must have frightened Ppoine.

"Aunt Gumi hurt, Momma?"

"Come on, Sweetheart," Miki said, holding out her hand to the child. "Let's go in your room now."

Ppoine shook her head.

"Yes, we have to go now. Be good, Sweetie."

But Ppoine lowered herself to a crouch and, before Miki could scoop her up, scuttled under the bed, drawing the rag rug in after her as a barricade. Miki reached under and tried to pull her out, but Ppoine clamped onto the leg of the bed and howled.

I had a better idea. I slipped off the bed and went into the kitchen for a peppermint stick. "Look, Ppoine," I said, holding the striped stick as close to the floor as I could. "Shush now. Aunt Gumi's got candy."

But another contraction made me gasp. The peppermint stick dropped with a crack as I grabbed hold of Miki. She helped me back on the bed, and we let Ppoine be.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Gumi_**

* * *

><p>Ppoine floating face down, her body spread over the waves like a red terry-cloth bathrobe. Reach, farther, reach, there — the hair, hold on, pull her up, pull her out.<p>

Gumi awoke, her fingers clutching the air, gasping as if she'd been the one trying to breathe under water. Ppoine isn't drowned, she told herself firmly. Ppoine is fine.

She'd fallen asleep fully clothed, the hem of her dress was still damp where it had draggled in the water when she heaved the boat out. Her collar had pulled tight around her throat as she slept — perhaps that accounted for her breathlessness — and she loosened the top two buttons.

The day had faded, but it was not yet dusk. Ppoine would be home soon, if she was not already.

"Ppoine?" Gumi stood at the top of the stairs and called down. There was no answer.

Turning, she faced herself in the landing mirror, her skin red from the sun, her hair snarled and matted, her dress wrinkled. She raised a tentative hand to her cheek. She'd never had what people called a full face, but lately her bones had become more prominent, her cheeks hollow. White wires threaded through her hair.

_What kind of a girl gets so dirty?_ her mother's voice said in her mind, but so clearly that she turned around, half expecting to see her standing there, holding a washcloth and a brick of her homemade lavender soap. But that would have been downstairs near the tub by the stove in the kitchen. Kaito had long since put in the bathroom upstairs by walling off a corner of Ppoine's room, the room Gumi and Miki once shared.

She took a fresh dress from the closet and hung it on the bathroom door. While she waited for the tub to fill, she brushed her teeth with a little baking soda, scrubbed the sink and the toilet with cleanser. In her hair, she could still catch the odor of the dead fish and weeds she'd encountered that morning. She'd have to wash it, even though it was probably too late in the day for it to dry properly.

Slowly, she lowered herself into the tub. She hadn't realized how cold and tense she'd been, and the warm water soothed her. She lay back in it, letting her feet and hands float. Lazily, she caressed herself, her stomach and her thighs, the bones and the soft dip at the base of her throat, her breasts. Then she slid deeper, tipping her head back to soak her hair. The water rose gently, like a warm hood over the back of her head, and her hair spread around her neck and over her chest like weeds. The water covered her ears, separating her from the sounds of the air, drawing her down and under.

Gumi sat up suddenly and struggled out of the bath, water streaming from her toes and fingertips onto the mat. Quickly, she dried herself and wrapped her hair in the towel. Then, her skin still damp, she pulled on her clothes. It was really food she needed. How long had it been since she'd eaten? She had to get some supper together. Ppoine was always starving after a day wrestling with those typewriters.

The stones in the driveway crunched and pinged as she was peeling the last potato. Gumi slipped to the window and looked out. A man, that Yonné boy, Victor and not Victor, was handing Ppoine out of the car. Gumi pulled the towel from her hair and tied a scarf around her head. But the car door slammed and then slammed again; the engine noises rose and fell away; and Ppoine came into the kitchen alone.

"You were with that Yonné boy?" Gumi asked her, as matter-of-factly as she could manage. She lifted the lid from the pot roast, and an exhalation of steam masked her face.

"Ron? He gave me a ride."

"But not Kiki?"

"No."

So now it was Ppoine who had to be watched? Gumi frowned, studying the young woman's movements, as Ppoine began to set the table.

"Did you. . ." She stopped herself, not sure how to say it, "drink anything?" she finished delicately.

"Of course not."

Anger, acerbic as bile, rose in Gumi at the thought of the father and son. Why would they not leave her and hers alone? But it was her own fault, she knew. Hiding and pretending, staying and lying, she had, in some sense, kept Victor Yonné with her always. One night with him had become a sort of knot around which she'd grown for the last twenty years. Why should she be surprised now if, instead of dissolving, he'd doubled?

But it would be all right, she assured herself. Summer was ending and soon they would go. She only had to wait, holding things in place, a little longer.

Ppoine was home safely, and now they would eat a well-balanced meal, Gumi told herself, spooning red cabbage onto Ppoine's plate. Everything was all right then. Everything was as it should be, she thought, surveying the table, except for one detail. "Do you think we should have applesauce, Ppoine? There's some in the icebox. Why don't you get it?"

"I don't need applesauce."

"Well, but I think we should have it. It's just in the icebox, in the little green dish."

"I really don't want applesauce tonight."

"But I think we should have it. Otherwise we don't have any fruit, and fruit is very important. Let's have it on the table, at least, in case we change our minds."

Suddenly, Ppoine dipped her head low and hid her face in her hands. "I want Kiki to be happy," she said, getting up from the table in a hurry. "I really do."

No, she shouldn't talk about Kiki, not tonight, not when everything had to be kept like so. "We all want Kiki to be happy, of course. Ppoine, on the top shelf, behind the milk. You know, I wonder if it'll be too cold. Do you think it is? It shouldn't be so cold that it chills the meat. Maybe we ought to heat it for a minute so it isn't cold."

"But we were going to have our apartment!"

"Apartment? What apartment?" Gumi pushed her chair back slightly. She felt suddenly at a disadvantage with her legs trapped under the table.

"There is no apartment. Not anymore. Kiki's going to marry Ron Yonné. He hasn't asked her yet, but I know he will."

With this jumble of strange syllables, a thickness filled Gumi's ears, followed by a ringing. She drew back from the table, shaking her head. "No," she said firmly, almost brightly. "No, that's impossible."

"Aunt Gumi, what's the matter? Are you sick? Is something wrong?"

Gumi stood up so abruptly that her chair toppled over behind her. "We have to stop them."

"What are you talking about? What's the matter with you?" Ppoine had come around the table and she pressed a palm to her aunt's clammy forehead. "Maybe you should lie down?" she asked, steering Gumi toward the front room. She tried to sound solicitous, but she was afraid. Was this why Gumi had to go to the bin all those years ago? "Should I call Doctor Kasane?"

"No! No one else, Ppoine. No one else. Only you."

They were standing beside the old davenport now, but when Ppoine tried to lower her aunt into it, Gumi clung and pulled her down too. "Promise me you'll help me, Ppoine." She whispered. "Promise."

"Of course I'll help you. What is it?"

Gumi continued to whisper, as if in that way the words would not actually be spoken, but somehow pass form her to Ppoine in a current understanding. "Kiki is Victor Yonné's daughter."

She's crazy, Ppoine thought, involuntarily pulling back from Gumi, as a mixture of fear and disgust, bordering on nausea, rose in her throat.

"Stop it," she said. "What's wrong with you? Stop acting like this." She felt an urge to slap her aunt, but Gumi began to cry then, and Ppoine rubbed her shoulder instead. "Now Aunt Gumi, you know that's silly. I don't know who told you that, but you can't credit crazy stories. Mr. Yonné and Mrs. Kagamine don't even know each other. And Mrs. Kagamine would never!"

A thought occured to Ppoine.

"I bet I know who started this. How dare they? That nasty Ling and Tianyi. They'll be sorry."

But Gumi had stopped crying. With fingers like claws, she gripped Ppoine's shoulders and shook her. "_You_ stop it, Ppoine! Look at me! Listen to me! This is no one's story but mine. No one knows it but me. Only me. I know he's Kiki's father because I am her mother. She's my baby."

Ppoine jerked out of Gumi's grip and turned her face away, covering her ears with her hands. "Stop it! How can you say such a thing?"

If Gumi had suddenly insisted that after all the sky was green and the grass was red, Ppoine could not have been more confused, more betrayed. Now was she turned to stare at Gumi, it was her voice that was reduced to a whisper.

"But you said the baby wasn't real."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ppoine<em>**

* * *

><p>Mama's feet go back and forth, back and forth. Aunt Gumi makes the scary sounds.<p>

"Shh, shh," I say, but nobody hears me. I put my head on the now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep and watch the candy stick. Aunt Gumi's shoes are watching me. I better be good now, good and quiet. "Shh, shh," I say but nobody listens to me.

Kick, Mama's shoe on the candy stick. It rolls to me and I pick it up, pick the fur off with my fingers. It's still good, I tell myself. That's what Aunt Gumi would say to me. We don't mind a little dirt.

Aunt Gumi makes the scary sounds.

"It's all right," Mama says. "Everything'll be alright."

But I knew it wasn't true.

I shush and suck, shush and suck. I am good, but still the scary sounds. I wish they'd stop. "Stop," I say, but I only whisper. "I'll be quiet, I'll be good."

My candy's so sharp, it bites my tongue. The blood tastes sweet, so I swallow it down. "Now I lay me down to sleep," I say, but I stay awake.

Mama's on the bed now too. I want to go on the bed, but I'm scared. The noises, stop the noises! And then the noises stop.

"Oh, Gumi," Mama says, "a little girl."

But the little girl is under the bed.

A baby is crying, so I try crying, but it isn't me.

* * *

><p><strong><em>xXx<em>**

* * *

><p>"You have to tell her, Aunt Gumi."<p>

They'd pushed the congealed pot roast and red cabbage, food that looked like a mass of bruises on the plates, into the slop bucket for the dogs and pigs, and were seated at the kitchen table. Gumi had poured cups of coffee, as if they were settling down to discuss an ordinary problem.

"No." Gumi shook her head. She was stirring sugar into her coffee. "No, we have to think, Ppoine. Think." Her spoon went back and forth, clinking on the edges of the cup. "Kiki can never know."

"Think about what? How to dress for the wedding? I'm going to tell her if you won't."

Gumi tried speaking calmly, patiently. She kept her eyes on Ppoine's face. Ppoine was being unreasonable; she had to be made to see. "You don't want to do that. Think of Rin. It'd kill her, Kiki finding out that way. Kiki finding out at all." She raised her cup to her lips with nearly steady hands and sipped. "No, it wouldn't be fair to Rin. After all, she's been a very good mother. You have to agree with me there, don't you, Ppoine?"

When Ppoine said nothing, Gumi repeated her question. "You agree that Rin has been an excellent mother, don't you?"

"Yes!" Ppoine said impatiently. "Yes, of course, but that has nothing to do with it!"

"Oh, Ppoine, you're not a mother yet. When you're a mother, you'll understand."

In exasperation, Ppoine pushed her cup away so roughly that the coffee slopped onto the table.

"Tch," Gumi clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "You're upset now, PPoine, but try to see it my way." She rose to get the dishrag. "Think of Kiki," she said, mopping the spill. "Think, Ppoine, how you feel knowing this. Just imagine how it would be for her — everything good, ruined. Everything she believes in, spoiled for her. You love Kiki. Do you really want to tell her that this is how she came into the world? You have to think of what's right, Ppoine."

"Like you did?" The words rang through the kitchen like gunshots.

Gumi had been standing at the sink, holding the rag under the rushing water. Now, suddenly, she bent over, as if tortured by cramp, and slipped down until she was pressing her forehead against the cupboard door beneath the sink.

"I can't," she gasped through her tears. "I can't have her hate me, Ppoine. I can't."

"Shhh," Ppoine said, crouching beside her, trying to pull her to her feet. "We'll tell Ron, then, or Mr. Yonné. They can find some other reason for breaking it off."

"But she'll find out, Ppoine, if they know. She's bound to." Gumi wiped her face with the dishcloth. Breathing in its sour odors, she prepared to use her last resort.

"We all make mistakes, you know," she said, rising with her back to Ppoine. When she turned around, she squared her shoulders but held tight with one hand to the sink behind her. She made her voice sound hard. "Even you, Ppoine, made a mistake."

"What do you mean?" Ppoine remembered his fingers on her forehead and her face burned.

"Your mother was going to raise Kiki for me. You would have been sisters then. You would have liked that, wouldn't you? But when I told you to get off the ice, no." She shook her head. "You wouldn't. You just kept on running. And then. . ." She cast her eyes down for a moment and then raised them again, staring firmly at Ppoine. "Your mother died. And I had to let my baby go."

Ppoine stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. But Gumi's words bore into her. "No, I— . . ." She began. But her breathing quickened, because she knew she had run. Even now, standing on the soft wood of the kitchen floor, she could feel her feet sliding out from under her, as they scrambled for a purchase on the slick blackness, and remembered that she could not go fast enough, no matter how she tried.

Gumi reached to touch the back of Ppoine's neck with her fingertips. Gently, she drew the girl toward her, until she could tuck Ppoine's bowed head under her chin.

"It's all right," she crooned, swaying slightly back and forth. "You were only a baby. You didn't know any better. But you see"— her voice brightened with pride— "I gave up everything for you. Everything. If I hadn't had to take your mother's place, don't you think I could've gone back to work, or had a family of my own? Instead, I took care of you. Now Ppoine," she sighed, almost happily, "now don't you think I have the right to ask you to do something for me?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_**

I am just horrible at updating my stuffs, lol.


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